Pillow Talk
by bluesquad
Summary: The first thing lost in war is time - and yet when Hermione finds it, there are ghosts everywhere. "Why-" He's reaching out for her because everything hurts without her. "Why can't I stay with you?" She had always blamed him for leaving her - she never thought the roles would be reversed.
1. one

**AN: _HI. I'M NOT J.K ROWLING. DON'T SUE ME._**

* * *

Hermione Granger was nowhere close to home.

Back at her flat, somewhere far behind her, Crookshanks was probably wondering why she'd left without as much as a glance to her fresh cup of tea. Or why she for some reason had just stopped the frantic pacing that had been part of her routine for a whole week by now. Or what all those scribbled words forming sentences on the neatly folded paper she'd gotten delivered by one of those foul owls had meant. Or why she'd left one of the vinyl records she'd ransacked from her fathers bookcase still spinning around in a dance with no audience to listen to its light strokes.

The cat would be left wondering for longer than expected.

Coming to think of it, maybe if she had finished the EP, or at least finished that cup of Earl before walking out the door, this story would perhaps have turned out entirely different. She'd put the kettle on in the midst of her frantic pacing, but her ears had already been ringing to notice the hiss of boiling water. She'd left before she could and the cat would be left wondering where she'd gone for longer than expected.

Hermione was out wandering.

Past a river, a bridge, abandoned parks and orange lit street corners. She kept going until she was lost. Midnight chimed somewhere, but she kept walking, too lost in the sensation. Almost as if floating as her feet moved gently over the pavement. Nothing held her down. She felt safe, which, still felt amazing considering what they'd all gone through to get to today.

Time in the Forest of Dean had never even offered as much a glimpse that this was what the future would look like. What shape life would form after Voldemort. Back then, the trees and the river and the muffled bird chirping hadn't given her enough imagination to see this. Back then, all of her imagination had been cold, drawing up scenarios of Ron's radio going static just seconds after announcing her own name. Back then the future hadn't looked bright. At sometimes, the future hadn't even existed in her mind, and to now find herself like this; in this world without Voldemort… it felt like she was running on 3000 volts. It was an odd scenario of walking around without a single care in the world of what would happen next. There was no running. No desperation for safety.

The past is in the past, and although it does make up the present, Hermione didn't dwell on it.

Not even the constant need of grasping her wand was present. She wasn't even touching it – the wand safely resting in her pocket as her fingers instead danced over roses blooming in a pot hanging out from a window. Pale pink, yellow and red embedded in green leaves.

Everything felt simple and easy. So clear. A beautiful escape.

It was oddly quiet, and lenient, and forgiving, and _peaceful_. Hermione usually never felt this calm – and in this light stroll down the pebbled streets bathing in city lights, she felt proud for achieving it. Memories of the Forest of Dean always seemed so cloudy and grey. Hopeless and robotic.

And even though Hermione was mastering the feeling day by day after Voldemort's defeat, it was a feeling she still wasn't used to. She usually never let it wrap itself around her this softly, a voice muttering constant vigilance at the back of her head. A worry stirred in at the bottom of her stomach, but her head was already swimming in a content cloud of safety to notice.

For some reason everything felt violet.

Perhaps it was how the sky was still playing with the colours the sun had left behind after descending over the horizon, or perhaps it was the purple neon lights shimmering above her. Maybe this was how the millennium would feel like, now only a few months away. The magic hour was slowly tuning into night, and Hermione was caught in the middle of its long descending farewell.

Dusty violets settled among bergamot trees and peony dreams.

It wasn't until a car pulled up along side her that she was released out from her veil of violet, her light, gracious steps slowing down. It was the first sign of anyone else this time a day during this part of the city. Naturally, Hermione took notice of the company.

The car looked old, but well treated. Windows were rolled down, offering a welcome to the warm summer breeze still dancing through the night. There was laughter, glasses clinking and happiness bubbling from the car. Someone seemed to having a problem with their _Lumos_ charm, seeing it as the light from inside flickered.

''Come on – get in!''

Hermione came to a halt. ''Huh?''

Turning around, she saw that the car had come to stop as well. A guy with hair like lemons was hanging his head out of the window, grinning at her. His fingers were red as he put pressure on them while leaning out, waiting for her to join him. But Hermione remained still, a distant frown playing on her features. She didn't recognise him from anywhere.

"Get over here."

Realising she clearly wasn't listening to his so far very simple instructions and that she was now glued to the spot the guy popped his head back inside the car, only to seconds later swing the door open, jumping to his feet.

He was dressed in rather formal attire – a periwinkle tuxedo with black buttons. The night must've started out with his hair firmly slicked back, only now halfway through half of his was lose control again, hanging recklessly to the side. It created a weird border that reminded Hermione of Two-Face from the comic books. Blue eyes matching his suit were staring at her with anticipation.

'' _Chivvy along_! We're awfully _late_.''

He threw his arms out, because apparently this is undoubtedly obvious information. Hermione bit her lip. Late for what, exactly? She wouldn't be surprised that she had missed something important. Things easily slipped past her nowadays. She had been sleeping away most of her days lately, or well, at least trying to. It was either that or pacing.

''Laaatee,'' someone from inside the car echoes in a cheer, however not seeming that bothered about wasting time. Hermione tried to think back at what she could possible have missed.

 _Late for what?_

"What do I have to do to get you to follow me? Alice followed the white rabbit without any complications," the guy with the everlasting grin continued, as if trying to sound irritated but failing miserably. He was too happy to play the part, just like Hermione was too batted and experienced to play the part of a dreaming child ready to enter Wonderland.

Hands clapped together and Hermione jumped at the sound.

''We haven't got all night, now do we? No! Time is ticking. Get in the car!''

''I think you got me mixed up with someone else,'' Hermione politely tried to reason, but the guy wasn't having any of it. He stalked closer to her with long strides, and hadn't Hermione been so stuck on the dimly lit memory of her mum reading Lewis Carroll for bedtime, Hermione would probably had marked the quick approaching strides as intruding, if not threating.

It seemed like he was muttering something in Welsh. With her eyebrows now knitted together (silently yelling at herself for not understanding more than one word) she took a step back.

''I don't… I can't understand you, sorry. I'm a little- uh… I'm not-''

''That's nonsense," he chuckled. Hermione blinked and suddenly he'd closed the distance between them. "Hurry up! Give me your hand!'' And the moment he'd won over the space she'd tried to put between them, everything suddenly went very fast. She was no longer floating in a tranquil cloud of violet, but rather swept towards the car.

" _About time_ ," someone sighed once they made it.

It was only once they were inside the car that Lemonhead lived up to his manners and introduced himself. ''Oh pardon me. Meadows at your service, madam. Now please hurry up. Sit down. Please." Behind him, the door and Hermione's final escape was slammed shut behind them. Then, turning his head towards the front, Meadows howled out a " _Hurry_!''

If she'd thought being swept inside the car by the helping hand of Mister Meadows had been fast, imagine Hermione's shock when the car started moving.

Hermione somehow managed to take in her surroundings.

The car was filled with as much as five people packed into the cramped backseat, a green bottle being passed around like a trophy while two ladies juggled a miniature firework between their wands, giggles erupting from their scarlet lips every few seconds. From the silent peacefulness Hermione had let herself bathe in all night there was now chaos. It wasn't fair to her to make such a drastic jump between the two worlds. Her head was swimming in fireworks, strong perfume, smiles and laughter.

''All right?''

The Brightest Witch of Her Age turned her head, checking for the source of the question, but it looked like everyone was either in the middle of a laugh or a chug at the drinks passed around, neither of them owning the question.

Hermione felt like mush, both physically and mentally. Her shoulders squeezed together and all the commotion was making her feel anything but all right. She managed to focus her thoughts on a short debate with herself, discussing whether these people could cause danger to her in any way. When the question was left unanswered, Hermione decided to let it play out.

"I… I think so?" she frowned through her answered, her fingers absently tracing the outline of the wand resting in her pocket, just to make sure it was still there.

''Aces!''

''It's not… I… Where are you going? We- going?''

''Relax, would ya? We'll be there in no time so no stress. Here, have some firewhiskey.''

As soon as this was said, three hands shot up on cue and offered Hermione glasses (actually, one hand was presenting a pink polka dot tea mug) already filled with the copper beverage. Still somewhat cautious, Hermione only took one small sip. The company in the car offered her lauding ovation, several toasts and cheers thrown left and right. Frowning she took another sip, feeling it burn. Her fingers started buzzing

''The night is young - drink up, drink up, drink up.''

Blinking a few times to clear her vision, Hermione looked around the backseat of the car, befuddled and tipsy. The alcohol was working rather fast, considering she had skipped both dinner and the cookies Molly had sent her this morning.

As if not already nestled up in the packed backseat, Meadows somehow managed to clear enough space to bump shoulders with her, raising his eyebrows in triumph as she turned to him.

"I'm glad we found you in time," he said and somewhere in-between Hermione found herself holding the glass he offered her "We'll be perfectly fashionably late," he continued while adjusting his bowtie.

The whole company were dressed in a mixture of elegant glitter and bohemian colours. Floating maxi dresses in patchwork prints and lace-up peasant blouses, psychedelic floras, round frame sunnies and super-size flares. Hermione, however, was boring and plain, only dressed in her black and grey outfit and her (actually Ron's) batted navy-blue bomber jacket falling loosely over her shoulders. And let's not forget her messy hair that was nowhere close to control. Despite this, one of the girls in the car seemed absolutely captured by the frizzy hair, squeaking as her fingers brushed it.

''Brill-'' Hermione could her whisper before letting out a hiccup, jumping from her seat. ''-iant!''

At one point the girl was close to breaking into tears and when Hermione's concerned eyes watched her she managed to choke out that ''s just... your hair... so pretty,'' to which Hermione swung back and confided the girl with the pink mug of alcohol, trying to dampen the tears away

''Blimey, Tracey, please don't cry,'' Meadows teased, patting her cheek in an awkward fashion. His aim wasn't that good. ''This is the one night you can't cry, 'memba? This night is for oz to live a little. Fugget abou' everythin.''

Tracey sniffed. ''No you're right, Theo. Let's go pawty.''

Slightly blurred scenes of jumping out of the car and entering a big villa, Hermione soon found herself in the middle of an ongoing party. The alcohol must've gotten to her, because she was so sure she saw George walking past her. It made her heart skip, because she knew for sure he was over in Romania to visit Charlie for the week.

Following the broad shoulders, Hermione's eyes stayed glued to the redhead who still had his back to her, now chatting happily with a short woman. ''Artie, love!'' the woman exclaimed, confirming that this was not George but someone else. Still, Hermione stayed locked on the couple, hoping he would turn around again so she could figure out why he'd looked so familiar. Unfortunately he never did, too busy cracking jokes at his company like it was his only mission to make the woman laugh.

Confused, Hermione spun around and looked at the other revellers trying to find _someone_ she actually knew.

After a while her heart stopped punching against her chest and Hermione allowed herself to soak up the beauty. It was just like the scenery in the car, only now magnified, bigger and more golden, more life, less noise and more sophistication.

The car had been chaotic and it had also made her feel slightly sick from all the drastic turns and the bumps the driver had chosen to speed past. Now she could stay completely still and just study the scene.

With her scraped knees and bruised knuckles, Hermione felt like a stain on a beautiful painting.

In the corner of the room an enchanted ice sculpture of a peacock was watching, green and blue colour flashing in the frost as it moved his head every now and then. Everything was glowing in warm and bright lights. She felt like she was ruining the picture. She felt out of place in the sea of smiles and the swinging bodies to the lax and welcoming music coming from the room next-door. She wasn't exactly ladylike in her simple attire. And despite her lack of finesse, she wasn't shunned. People happily invited, smiles pulling her further into the mass of people.

''You look lost.''

Hermione turned, finding herself face to face with a girl who couldn't be much older than her.

The girl looked like a saint. Delicate bones. Glossy, dark hair. Prefect skin. Big teeth. All she needed was a halo. Her smile must've been contagious, because Hermione suddenly felt her cheeks hurting as she mimicked the girl.

''Lost?'' Hermione smiled hesitantly, a small voice at the back of her head scolding her for only communicating in questions for the past hour. Feeling the blush that had climbed up sometime during the car ride alight, a nervous tic started itching at the back of her neck. ''I- I was just… uh… Yeah.''

She glanced down at her clothes shamefully. A pair of black trousers and a grey t-shirt couldn't be compared to the sky blue summer dress the girl was wearing.

Hermione reminded herself that she wasn't a delicate looking saint.

She was a soldier of the second army.

Then again, the war was over – warriors weren't needed anymore.

''I'm Alice,'' the girl introduced herself, not waiting for Hermione to do the same before she turned away. ''Oh Fraank?'' Standing on her tiptoes she raised her hand to wave wildly over a group standing between her and this Frank guy. ''Frank! … damn it… FRANK!''

A mop of blonde hair, shorter than Alice (though probably due to her spiked heels) appeared from the crowd, smiling as he joined the two of them. Unlike 90% of the rest of the crowd attending the party, he wasn't dressed in a posh suit. Or a periwinkle tuxedo. In fact, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, bright Plumerias and Hibiscus flowers like medals around his chest and biceps.

''Frank, we need to help this girl. She's not nearly drunk enough.''

Rolling his eyes at Alice, Frank reached over and offered his hand to Hermione. He was tipsy, but nevertheless, still seemed to hold his etiquette.

''Pleasure to assist... I'm Frank Longbottom. And you 're?'' he introduced himself, his eye waiting curiously as they shook hands.

''I'm Her-'' Hermione stopped herself, processing what she had just heard. _Longbottom_? ''Oh. What a coincidence that you… that you two have the same names as-''

''What?''

''Longbottom!''

''Oh, you got it wrong. My name is Alice Fortescue, not Longbottom.''

Grinning, Frank swung an arm around Alice as he pulled her closer to him. ''Frank an' Alice Longbottom dunt soun' that bad though, duz it, love?'' he smirked to her hair, and this time it was Alice's turn to roll her eyes. She added a small slap to his arm.

''I'll be keeping my name, thank you very much,'' she snorted, but couldn't help but smile as Frank gave her a silly grimace. ''You absolute tosspot,'' she added with a whisper, although she didn't seem to really mean it. Neither did Frank seem to take any offence to the minor insult. They seemed to have fallen into a deep trance, slowly closing in on each other. For a moment they seemed to completely forget about everyone else in the room.

"We'll see… We'll settle it over a game ov poker."

Hermione clenched her fists, biting her lip so hard teeth almost pierced her skin. Thoughts were spinning, because last time she had found herself face to face with a Longbottom other than her dear friend Neville, she had been visiting St Mungo's forth floor of Spell Damage. It had to be a coincidence. They had to be from a long distant branch of Longbottom's, she told herself. Perhaps Neville had invited them to come now when the war was over? Then again, Neville had never mentioned long-distant relatives.

Judging from the way the couple were looking at each other, Hermione knew what would happen. She'd been around Harry and Ginny long enough to know. And with that knowledge, she was bidding to make her exit before she got to see the details. Clearing her throat, both Frank and Alice jumped away from each other's embrace.

''I think I should get going? You… I mean… It was wonderful meeting you and… you've been awfully nice and it's a lovely shirt you have but I really need to keep going.''

''Oh, thanks! 's silly, but I wear Hawaiian shirts jus' cuz it's ten times mo'e harda to feel upset when you're in one,'' he said with a cheer, eyes bright, droopy and happy. Of course missing the other (maybe more important half) of Hermione's attempted farewell. Nevertheless she found herself laughing because his reasoning made it sound so simple. The shirt did brighten the dim chaos around her. ''…and now yur lawwfing at meh because you kno em sayen stuped things.''

Hermione's laugh was cut short when the third of the trio spoke again – all traces of happiness suddenly gone.

''A _shirt_ can hardly mFrank stopped beaming, suddenly sobering up like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on him, followed by a slap and headlights flashing at 1000 volts. With wrinkles covering his freckled forehead and nose, his arm around Alice tightened and strengthened as he pressed his lips into a tight line. For a second he shut his eyes as if to gather himself to reload.

Then he makes a decision. He doesn't take the fight. He chose not to share the argument. Hermione's laugh was cut short when Alice spoke again – all traces of happiness suddenly gone.

Instead, he leans closer to Alice's ear, and he whispers, ''Em buyin' you one of these shirts. You'll see.''

Alice's stiff shoulders loosened instantly, and her parted lips gave out a tiny gasp, just about to answer that she could easily have just took one from the closet they were now sharing (not that she ever would because honestly Frank's Hawaiian shirts were the most horrendous pieces of clothing she had ever laid her eyes on) – but she didn't get the chance to. The kiss he left on her cheek distracted her long enough from forming a good insult.

''You're unbelievable,'' was all she got out.

From the looks of it, Frank read it as a compliment.

''You loike it.''

''Hate it, more like.''

Hermione felt the need to stop the bickering before it got too far, feeling her confusion growing into a slight despair. The war was over. How on earth could they possibly have missed it? ''War? With?''

Instead of answering, Hermione was met by the pair staring at her with investigating eyes, as if suddenly truing to solve a riddle. They looked just as perplexed at her behaviour as she did to theirs. Like _she_ was the one acting strange.

''You have a glazed look in your eyes,'' Alice frowned, leaning in for closer inspection to solve the mystery. ''Stunned, stupefied, anaesthetised, lobotomised, monged… Oh dear… You're not confunded, are you?''

Hermione took a step back.

She struggles briefly with herself, loses, wipes her hands, straightens her posture and squeeze her eyes shut. Her hands shoot up and massage her temples, pushing up and down her face and forehead. A nervous laughter fell from her lips. She _was_ acting weird, wasn't she? She ran through a list in her head of all possible symptoms of illnesses she had read up on over the summer, simultaneously trying to figure out any way how all of this could be happening.

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

It was possible, just very, _very_ unexpected.

Frank offered her a small smile (he seemed to always smile), ''Okay, easia question, where are you frum?''

Rapid words answered him, words laced and bumping into each other. ''I - I - I - I'm - I'm from… here? Well actually, I'm on a… but I just got... uhm.. w-where exactly… _where am I?_ '' Hermione finally settled on the most important question she found find enough courage to ask so far. It seemed to do wonders, because as soon as she asked, a breath of relief exited through Alice's lips and Frank instantly lounged forward to grab her by the shoulder.

''Oh, I'm sorry,'' he chuckled. ''Don't you know host? Meadows _did_ bring in a whole army of guests. You must be one of them. Sum friends 'ave a little part-ey for Marlene McKinnon.''

Hermione would've swayed back if Frank's hand on her shoulder wouldn't have anchored her to stay still. Blinking a few times, Hermione opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, then closes it. _Marlene McKinnon, as in Order of the Phoenix member Marlene McKinnon? Are they having a party for the dead? Why am I dreaming about a dead persons party_? That must be it.

 _I am dreaming._

It's the only reasonable explanation.

Turning back her focus to the dazed faces of Frank and Alice, Hermione's quirked her eyebrows at them in a rather accusing manner. She had to check one last time before she would let herself fall into this dream. She watched them carefully, waiting to calling their bluff.

''Are you kidding me? I mean come _on_.''

Alice bobbed her head up and down, her eyes narrowed. ''I know exactly what you're thinking, yeah!'' (If one thing was for sure, Alice Fortescue did _not_ know what Hermione was thinking. As a matter of fact, it was the complete opposite.) ''You think _this_ ,'' she waved over the party, ''is dull. I agree. Who are we kidding? I'm ready move on - let's do Prewett's, Frank!''

''Prewett's?'' Frank echoed. "But I reckon they're here, right? I saw Mo-"

"No, no, nope. Gid and Fabio boycotted and it's only a matter of time before that turns into an after party, which, mind you, probably already has started."

"Yeah… but Marlene hasn't opened our present yet."

''She'll live. Me, on the other hand, might die. I'm bored, _she's_ bored, we're all _bored_ ,'' Alice argued as her clumsy finger swayed over to point to Hermione who was standing with a shocked expression glued to her face. They couldn't possibly confuse her to be bored, could they? That was the last thing Hermione was. Bored didn't even exist on the map - even the same planet.

 _You're in a dream_ , a voice in the back of Hermione's head cooed. _You're dreaming_.

And with that settled, Hermione let down all her guards. Blinking a few times she forced herself to tear her stare away from the couple in front of her, admiring the beauty of the event one more time. A sigh escaped from her red-bitten lips as the party turned into a supernova in slow motion; a chaos no one really caused. It was just there. It was like billions of starts had exploded and ejected wide smiles all full of a tessellation Hermione could get lost in.

Hermione let herself embrace the dream, curiosity filling her buzzing head.

Looking extremely apologetic, Frank bit his lip before speaking. "We could go, but I have to talk to Molly first. Arthur told me she's been worried lately. She'd probably kill me if I didn't bring you with me… and…" Realising he never actually got the girls name, Frank turns back to the lost girl in their company, who was now just staring at them open mouthed. He waited a few seconds for her to repeat her name, but realising she wasn't going to answer him, he quickly cut the silence short.

''You coming?''

Hermione didn't even realize it was Weasley _née_ Prewett until it was too late.

* * *

"This was a bloody incredible idea!" Sirius roars over the thumping of the stereo, Led Zeppelin, the ground beneath him churning along to the beats of the music loudly enough to be mistaken for an earthquake. He has a crown made of toilet paper wrapped around his head and there's a mosh pit of karaoke happening in the other room while James sings along to a new version of _Ramble On_ , and it's everything Sirius expects out of the two newly graduated Aurors and need to wash the numbing sensation of _war_ and _family_ from his tortured mind.

Peter had been the one to take the lead in celebrating their last week of the summer. It was a mission that included a lot of alcohol and sleeping. And eating. And genius (stupid) experiments to prepare for their final year at Hogwarts waiting around the corner.

"Told you it'd be good for you," Peter yells back over the noise.

He appears to have taped tequila bottles to his palms—not a bad DIY idea—and Sirius takes another generous gulp from the cup of unidentifiable liquor pushed into his hands at the start of the party. He thinks it might be a margarita gone wrong considering it makes his head spin every time he so much as takes a whiff, but it tastes like summer in a cup so he won't ask too many questions.

Sirius Black is incredibly drunk.

He hasn't been this drunk since he and James first thought it was a good idea to raid Euphemia Potter's liquor cabinet and get raving drunk in the garden behind the Potter house, and despite Sirius' history of spilling humiliating secrets and crossing lines of tact fully invisible to his inebriated mind, he very much wants to drink more. There's a whole pyramid of shots lined up in the hall Sirius has yet to sample, and he's fully relying on Remus to keep an eye on him and make sure nobody takes advantage of his drunken affinity of touching everybody everywhere. Sometimes he licks too, which people unfortunately often take the wrong way.

He wanted to dance really, really badly, so he did. He bangs his head and spins in circles until the entire room is one giant blender, colours blurring together and music pounding in from every side.

Man, he's the best drunk in the world.

It's a great turn out, actually, for such a tiny house. The Prewett's had done a great job. Judging from the mass of people anyone claustrophobic would probably hurl out the window. Sirius didn't have any problem with filtering through the guests, although many probably saw him as a problem as every step he took resulted in him bumping into things. A clumsy dancer or a beer keg or a girl wearing nothing but balloons, carefree and drunk. Massively drunk. Even Remus was letting loose, aggressively dancing with a lamp with a bottle of vodka in his free hand without a single care in the world. Sirius would be taking pictures if he could convince his mind to focus.

He can't though, so Remus was spared.

James' horrible singing (much sounding like someone spanking a cat because _what the fuck is that_ noise) _Ramble On_ is now smoothly transitioning into _Whole Lotta Love_ , and something in the melody makes Sirius stop dancing, suddenly feeling too heavy to stand.

Not very far away, tequila bottles were being ripped away, some glue sticking to his fingers. It felt kind of funky, but in a funny, good way. (Whatever that meant.)

Once free from the bottles, Peter Pettigrew escaped out the backdoor to give himself a break from James' banshee singing, Sirius flinging Bertie Bott's at his head and Remus embarrassing himself in trying to duel a now fully-trained Fabian Prewett. Not very long ago had Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald barged in – Lily now sneaking up on people and offering them a fair share of her bowl of popcorn, and Mary… Don't even get started on Mary.

With a champagne glass (filled with orange juice) raised above her head Mary was trying to hold a toast, but the words she was trying to say didn't quite make it out through her sobs.

Emotional drunks were never Peter's expertise, so he escaped before Mary would get clingy.

No one seemed to notice (or care) when Peter slipped out back.

He was out of cigarettes, so for the moment he settled on glancing out over the city. Beyond the short fence was an image that he had only seen in postcards. A few lights dotted here and there, signalling other homes. There were trees stretching as if to touch the stars. The moon that Peter had grown to hate ever since he was eleven was skinny – the full moon still days away – yet it was strong enough to offer just enough light to see. A mountain of lined clouds descended over the buildings, brown billows separating the city from the black sky.

Moonlight sung with verses of danger above, but no one listened.

Honestly, no matter how good the summer had been, Peter wanted it to end. Time wasn't going the right pace. He wanted it to run off his shoulders like water and that he would be left standing free from school and homework and summer breaks to do anything and everything all at once. He wanted to grow up and choose his own books and his own spells and maybe…

" _Pete!"_

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Peter almost dropped his wand as he turned back towards the house and the backdoor that had now suddenly been slammed open. It was no one other than the tone-deaf solo-artist James Potter who was standing in the frame, voice already hoarse from all the ABBA sung. Still, he didn't let that get in the way.

"What are you even doing out here? No- never mind, just get back here and _help_."

Peter didn't question his best friend, quick to jog back to the party. As he got closer, he noticed how the curly hair was unnaturally wild. Like fingers had pushed through it one too many times. It was a mess.

No, correction: James was a mess.

"What happened?" Peter asked, fear creeping up his spine as he held his breath in the pause of waiting. It had to be bad, considering how pale James looked.

"It's Remus. I think he's transforming."

* * *

 **AN: _Good / bad / stop ?_**


	2. two

_**AN: HELLO. I'M STILL NOT J.K ROWLING. DON'T SUE ME. PLEASE**_

* * *

Hermione Granger was nowhere close to home.

They'd taken her to the old Longbottom house, one not far from out from London. The fall had caused quite the panic for the two Aurors in training, not to mention the others attending the golden party, and considering no one really knew the girl or where she was from or where she belonged, Alice and Frank took her to the closest option they could think of.

The house belonged to one Mr. Falstaf; one of Alice Fortescue's introverted uncles who had fled the country once the attacks had started getting weekly. Last time she'd heard from him he was running around in the South Americas, doing who knows what. She only got letters from him every once a month, always asking the same thing: _is it safe to come back yet_? She'd never been able to give him the answer he was hoping for, so he stayed away.

It did leave the house fairly empty though, so naturally it had been worn down and filled with dust. The wards wrapped around it always seemed to falter, and despite this, on more than two occasions the house worked as an in-between place for the Order to come. Barely no one knew about the hide out – except the shadow that had been following them, of course.

The wards weren't the problem for him. He broke them all down like the sun casting away a shadow. No, instead, this time the problem was one Hermione Granger - the girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The girl who didn't belong.

He knew this because he'd seen her grow up. He knew where she belonged and where she was anchored. He'd been around her more than what should be allowed. He'd held her hand, he'd been the very reason for so many tears and yet he'd also been the soul reason for her to keep fighting. To not give up. Of course he remembered her, _of course_ he'd notice the moment she got to far out of reach.

It was time to see her. It was time for an introduction – though they usually never went like this.

Truth is, he was worried he wouldn't find her in time. He was worried someone would get to her and answer her questions before he could. He was the only one who remembered her, and if someone got to her first… no, he wouldn't want that. So he rushed, something he rarely allowed himself to do. But instead of his slow and sweeping motions, he was now _sprinting_. Moving through French doors that lead from a wide terrace into an expansive living room, down wide corridors lined with Nasmyth and Cole paintings, the Düsseldorf School, mists and trees and small boats and distant humans; pushing through the doorway to reveal a master bedroom furnished with exquisite simplicity, revelatory of its sleeping occupant, Hermione Granger, with a warm but commanding face, a girl of maturity yet who exudes a glow of enthusiasm.

Although asleep, there is an uncommon restlessness to her. Closing in on her, he notices how she was gripping her upper arm as if in pain.

It was as if she'd been waiting for him to get closer, because the moment he makes it to the edge of the bed, the severity of the pain wakes her. She shoots up gasping, and he hears her heart try to catch up to the nightmares they're both so familiar with. They've been to the same place, same war, same funerals.

Through the darkness, with no hesitation, he speaks to her.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he says, his voice heard distantly, or was it the wind itself? It didn't matter. The girl blinks, her grimace of pain fades, the discomfort seems momentarily to have subsided. She's is still stuck in her memories, but conscious enough to look around the room for any sign of company. She thought she'd heard something… no, she was sure she had, but where from?

Sensing her thoughts, he sends his words over her again.

"It was not supposed to end like this."

This time she hears it. It is unmistakably a voice, not the wind. But no one is there. All bewildered, Hermione looks around once more, clinging to her sheets as her back curve, trying to trace the source of what she has heard or hasn't heard; she is not sure. The room she finds herself in is unfamiliar and too big to be her own – her flat didn't have room for this expensive interior, and the view and sounds were wrong. And although waking up in a strange place sparks a panic inside of her, she's prioritizing the threat hidden in the room.

She pulls the covers up to block out everything, not a sound, and tries to close her eyes, but she hears it again.

"It was not supposed to end like this."

Was this the first step to insanity? She'd seen it happen to people, but she'd never imagined it to be like this. They were words Hermione had heard before. Words that she herself had spoken, choked and sobbed through red lips. Words she'd yelled and rebelled at because no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to end like that, with him, with Harry, with… It wasn't supposed to end like that.

She sits up again, frightened and anxious of her surroundings, but still there is no one there. She looks outside: absolute stillness and silence, crickets chirp down by the river, a light flickers from a shad boat. She closes her eyes but she can't keep them closed. She's left staring up at the ceiling, doing everything she can to remember. She tries to remember – something she usually doesn't allow herself to do. But she tries. Tries to recall how she got to this bed so much softer and bigger than her own, free from the smell of paper and books and wool and…

A sob escape her.

The darkness engulfs her, and she hears the voice again, and although the voice is everything but threatening, it sends a chill up her spine; "You are safe."

"Who are you?" Silence. "What the hell is going on?!"

"I think you know…"

She shakes her head rapidly. "No. _No_ , I don't! I don't know, I don't understand, why… why am I seeing people who… what is happening?"

"Try. You have gone through this before."

No – not like this. She dreamt of ghosts and snatchers and battles and running running running every night. She dreamt of people she'd lost, not of strangers. Not of Neville's parents, of war heroes from before. She hadn't dreamt of Molly and Arthur Weasley looking young and happy like… like they hadn't lost half of their family in the war. No, she hadn't been through this before, whatever sick, elaborate joke this was.

He can her thoughts screaming, can see her planning her escape, eyes desperately searching for her wand under her pillow but she can't find it. She couldn't cast an _Aparecium_ , or any reveal charm non-verbally for that matter, let alone with wandless magic. But Hermione Granger wouldn't stop without a wand.

She goes to the window, forcing them open. Immediately she was greeted with a gust of wind and an abundance of heavy raindrops, the summer air blowing errant strands of hair around her face and the water pelting from the skies soaking her sleeves. Not a soul outside. No one. She was completely isolated.

"Where are you?" she mumbles, backing away from the window.

"Don't run."

She makes it as far as to the desk pressed up against the wall. He watch her holding on tight to the corner of the desk, sweat dripping, her skin ashen. He wants to reach out, to do what he doesn't know exactly, but nevertheless, he can't. Not yet. It's not her time.

"Tell me what you want!"

"Are you giving me orders?"

Almost instantly she falls to the floor. The voice didn't sound like the wind anymore, it sounded like thunder. "I'm… I…" Everything was spinning. Where was Ron? Where was Harry?

"For the first time, you're not the one in power or knowledge to handle the situation, Miss Granger. I am the one person you will never control, is that understood?" A spasm, the worst one yet, finally it subsides and there is an eerie silence in the room, a void, almost more disturbing than the voice that has filled it.

That was enough, he decided. She had to rest.

"Where am I? Who were those…" _ghosts_.

"It was not supposed to end… with the boy. The boy who _lived_ ," the voice explained, and Hermione felt her eyes sting. She wanted Harry. She missed Harry. Where was he?

"You have seen the end, and this is the beginning."

"Who are you?"

"… we shall meet soon."

"No! Don't leave without a name."

There was a beat, and Hermione felt how everything had grown stiff around her. Solidified. As if burnt under the sun, or buried in magma and rocks and dust. For a second she thought she would get an answer, a proper one at that, but in the end, she was left with more questions.

"Oh but we already know each other."

Before she can raise her voice and her words to yell back, sound of footsteps clicking against the marble floor starts to echo through the corridor. Eyes shot up to the door as the handle start turns, the door opening to reveal the girl from the dream she'd had. The impossibility of Alice Fortescue; sane and awake and _smiling_.

"You're up!" she exclaims, and with a flick of her wand, the room bursts into light. Second after, Alice gasps at the sight of Hermione. "Oh dear, are you feeling alright?"

Alice hadn't heard the voice.

"I'm heard.. You… I'm not," Hermione quivers as Alice runs up to her where she's still stuck on the floor from her fall, panic overriding all systems in her body to make her move. "I'm not supposed to be here I'm not sure how I got here but it doesn't feel… it's wrong."

"Don't you worry, you're fine. Frank and I didn't know where you lived, and our flat is kind of small, so we took you to my uncle's. This is his house, Frank and I have been watering the plants and we figured this was the best place to go… Do you remember Frank from yesterday?"

Hermione frowned. "Yesterday?"

"At Marlene's? Blonde, tall twat who won the limbo contest? Hard to miss him. Anyway, we brought you here because you fell and although Molly and Arthur stubbornly told us that we should've taken you to Mungo's. Some people just couldn't handle their liquor, and some people had learned to. Suppose that's what Auror-training does to you. Well, a healer was already at the party and she ran a diagnostic and she said you just needed to rest."

"Rest?" _No_ , Hermione wanted to say. I don't need to _rest_. I need to _wake up_.

Alice pushed most of her hair behind her ears as she spoke. "Honestly, I'm happy you're just one of them lightweights. We'll treat your hangover in no time, you'll see. Another trip to St Mungo's this week would stink," she went on. "Don't tease him about it, but Frank is terrified of hospitals."

It's like a veil of violet dreams have been peeled back from Hermione's mind and everything has suddenly turned grey and brown with a cold, bitter aftertaste.

"I can't thank you enough for taking care of me," Hermione mumbles, feeling how her cheeks are heating up. "If there's anything I could do to repay you, I'd be happy to…"

Hermione gulps, losing her words. If this was real, if this was the real Alice _Longbottom_ … that meant she was far away from home. And it also meant that she was too far from home to even have anything to offer. All records, all her savings, all books and artefacts were back home, not in this era of time.

Pretty much all she knew of the 1970s were old stories from when her parents had first met.

Alice smiled down at her, strong and steady hands pulling her back up again. Their arms now chained together, she nodded towards the door. "How about we start with breakfast?"

* * *

St. Mungo's had a rather unusual effect on people over time, slowly but surely making visitors and patients go insane by just being there. That's what it felt like, surrounded by all the polished whites, the shining metals and the soft green that reminded James Potter more of vomit beans than a green field or whatever the intention behind the coloured uniforms had been.

"Stop pacing."

He didn't.

"Stop… Pacing."

"Fuck off."

A sigh. "Prongs. I'm not joking around, _stop it_ ," Sirius repeated for the forth time since they arrived to St. Mungos, now surrounding a knocked out Remus Lupin struggling with sleep in the bed that was way too small for his frame. "He's not transforming," Sirius went on. "He's just… shut himself off or something."

Peter, who was gnawing away at his fingernails dared to look up at his friends. "Will he be ok?"

"I'm not a Healer, am I?" Sirius muttered.

Even though James were showing signs of most stress out of the three animagi, he did take the moment to assure Peter didn't reach the same level as he did. He somehow managed to small at Peter, shaking his head.

"They said that he won't turn. It's not possible to turn before the full moon."

"But he's always like this the moment before it happens and…" Peter's words tuned out, and his face crunched into a frown. Remus was always like this the minutes before the full moon took effect on his mind and body. He would always, maybe in defence to his sanity, try to reach this state before he could feel the pain. And yet, it wasn't time yet. The full moon wasn't here yet, and Remus was still Remus.

All three boys fell into a silence after Peter mentioned the transition. It was never easy. Never had been, watching a friend suffer under something that was out of their control. It was tearing Remus apart, one layer at a time, and sometimes, they wondered if time would be harsh or kind to the werewolf.

It had been hell getting him to St Mungo's.

Even though the panic Prongs and Padfoot had drowned in when finding Moony unconscious, hinting at all signs to transform, they'd been quick to move him. Before anyone got hurt. Or before anyone would see what was happening to the young werewolf. So they moved him away from the party and the drinking games and the karaoke and the warmth. Only a few knew about Remus' condition, and even though it was safe to say James had been freaking out beyond words, they couldn't risk anything. If anyone as much as caught a scratch, it would ruin everything. It would kill Remus.

Once the three animagi had reformed group, it had been Sirius who had kept his cool and decided what their plan of action would be. First, they took Remus to the forest they'd spent the summer's first full moon at. They had surrounded the collapsed boy in their animal forms, waiting.

Waiting and waiting.

This was when the pacing had started.

Three hours passed, and as the morning sun cast shadows over the army of trees, Prong's had awoken from his panic. The pacing kept going as he transformed back to his human form. The moment he did, he broke about a million rules and promised he had made to Remus, but he didn't care.

Ignoring the growl from Padfoot, James approached Remus with a pained expression. _"That's it, we're taking him to St Mungos."_

"Stop pacing," Sirius muttered again, pressing slightly dirty fingers to his temple. They'd been awake for over 24 hours by now, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. He had to think. He had to remember every detail before sleep got to erase them. "We have to figure this out."

"The Healers said this kind of stasis usually comes from magical drainage," Peter whispered.

James shook his head. "That's not it. Remus isn't _drained_. He's the opposite. _Double_ the magic."

After all, that's what sharing mind with a magical creature does to you. And still, despite this, Remus was always careful with his magic. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he lived like a muggle during the summers. He never waved his wand to assist his laziness. The magic Remus used was always pure.

Sirius closed his eyes, fingers still smudging dirt to his temple. "This sucks."

James huffed at the blunt statement, his pacing faltering for a moment. They were all exhausted. But no one wanted to let it win. They all had to stay awake, just in case he woke up. Surely Moony wouldn't appreciate to wake up to the whole team passed out around him, not to mention that they would look like a bunch of kids.

"Where is my son?"

Doors were pushed open and all three boys jolted up as if the voice had set an alarm off. A woman, short grey hair, an Amelia Earhart was running inside, followed by a rather annoyed Healer.

"My son – _is he here_? … oh Remus."

Hope Lupin may have been born in 1927 but that didn't stop her from being loud. Her lungs was somehow capable of pushing so much volume to her words that she always, no matter who or what she was yelling at, left people in wonder just how on earth someone her size and her age still could be so _loud_.

Maybe even more worse than a howler, and that's both bad _and_ impressive at the same time.

The Marauders didn't get to see much of Mrs. Lupin – most summers and holidays were spent at the Potters, and whenever they did convince Moony to let them come over during one of his sick days or sometimes just to check out his comics collection, his mother was usually at work or very brief with presence. Nevertheless, they loved the woman. She was kind, and despite her muggle ways, she still made magical pancakes and she always, despite the occasion, had some embarrassing story about her son to wrap up a dinner with. She always had so many stories to tell them. Like when she was sixteen, when the war had broke out and she had to leave school. She'd been all over Europe, and one time, she'd shared a sauna with Margaret Thatcher.

Mrs Lupin could be dead serious too. Like just a few minutes ago, when an owl had somehow figured a way to get inside her office on the 10th floor, much to her frustration tearing down at least three stacks of folders before she managed to catch the letter it was sent to deliver, explaining that her son was currently resting in a bed at St. Mungos.

She was next to the bed in seconds, yelping as her frail arms stretched around her boy as she softly got out words of worry along with "my baby boy" cut in every so often. After a while she quieted down, as if she was worried she might wake him, even though that was pretty much the only thing the Marauders wanted to happen right now.

Ready to get answers, she turned to the three boys, and it took a bit of work from a conductor to manoeuvre their choir of answers and odd explanations and doubts and theories. When they were done – or rather, when she'd heard enough, she lifted both hands to stop them.

"I should move him."

"Madam, that is really not…"

"I could move him to a hospital," she corrected herself. "What if it's human? Rather.. What if it's a non-magic issue that is making him… making him like this and,,, what if it's human or what do you call it..? Muggle?"

A short silence filled the room, all focus wandering over to the boy who was still knocked out and down deep in whatever dream had caught him. They'd only figured it had to be the curse, because it always was. No matter if he was tired, broken, quiet, sore, bruised, angry, cold, burning up - it could always be traced back the bite-mark left over a decade ago.

Muggle? A Muggle injury? They'd thought of everything but that. In the hours of brainstorming and not once had the chance or even suggestion of it being non-magical came up. No. That didn't make any sense. It really didn't. It had to be magical, because why else would he give off the _exact symptoms_ (scaring the living crap out of them thank you very much) of ta full moon transformation (minus the actual transformation into a wolf) and fall to his knees while scratching his bite-mark? It just _had_ to be the wolf, right?

The Healer was first to break the thought, shaking his head as his face twisted into a sour expression. Like he'd just bitten into a piece of lime.

"With all due respect, we ran all diagnostics and there's nothing a _muggle_ Healer would find that we wouldn't."

"And I'm thankful for you doing that, but you need to understand that there's more to do. I can take him to special doctors who've educated themselves entirely on cases like these."

Maybe Hope Lupin hadn't intended on causally insinuate that Wizard Healers didn't have as prestigious training and education as a doctor had, or maybe she had – either way the Healer grew red by the insult.

"A _Doctor,_ " he hissed, "who would see that there is an unbalance in his test results. We have laws of discretion, laws which you should be very much aware of. You taking him to a hospital would only make it worse … Now, if you excuse me, while you decide, I have patients to attend. You can remove him from this facility either by contacting me, or going to the reception."

With that, the Healer exited the room, leaving Hope Lupin to collapse back to her son's bed, her eyes tired and her lips pressed tightly together. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry."

She held his hand for the next 20 minutes, silently pushing back strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes or adjusting his blanket and hushing words of comfort. All the while, the three Marauders felt safe enough to snooze off and catch up on some sleep, even if it only were for a few minutes.

Hope Lupin woke them up when her time was up.

"Hey," she mumbled. "I'm terribly sorry to leave you with this but I have to get back to work," she admitted through a pained expression. "I'll be back as soon as I've explained everything and filed in the reports. If I don't get back here before he wakes up, you call me, alright boys?"

"O-O-Of c-course," Peter blinked.

"Good," she nodded, and it was as if someone had flicked a switch because her sad eyes switched to determined and now wide awake, a note passed over to the nearest before she moved over to the bed with the sleeping boy again, begging for forgiveness as she left him, promising – vowing – to be back as soon as possible.

A kiss to her son's temple and once final squeeze to his still hand, then she got up.

She turned at the door, taking once last glance back at her son and his best friends. "The second he wakes up," she repeated, nodding over towards the note she'd handed them. Then she was gone.

Sirius gulped, nodding solemnly as he stared down at the numbers scribbled down on the paper, along with a name and address to Mrs Lupin's workplace. He hadn't taken Muggle Studies, none of the Marauders had, but Lily had taught Prongs some stuff over the summer, and if there was anyone who would be able to operate one of those sets of telephones, it was Prongs.

Hours passed.

Remus still hadn't moved, but little after James had returned, all three boys had been forced out of Remus' room and placed in an old waiting room, along with the stern orders to _"Go home and come back tomorrow."_

Sirius had taken over the pacing, surveying the half-empty waiting room at St. Mungo's with great displeasure. He was tired of sitting. Tired of waiting.

It seems like when it came to choosing the interior for the room the Healers had picked the most uncomfortable chairs ever made in history. How James has managed to spread himself out over two, (three of them if you counted his shoes) and fall asleep like it was a second home was far beyond Sirius. It almost hurt watching the zigzag formation his friend had fallen asleep to. That was the thing about James… he was able to sleep in any situation– once spending the night in one of the barrels in front of the Hufflepuff Common Room.

No matter how many years they had put up with James' snores in the Gryffindor Tower, in this particular setting and considering the circumstances, it was starting to becoming annoying. A _Silencio_ was out of question, so Sirius was quick to swoop in with a half-smirk and slap Prongs' shoulder.

It worked… Sort of. Now he was just drooling.

Sort of. Define the Niagara Falls.

Sirius leaned back into his seat, his hands neatly folding a newspaper before popping the cyan chewing gum he had nicked from Peter. By the click of his pen he started to finish the crossword, wrinkles forming on his nose and forehead in deep thought. In the seat next to him an old, dog-eared, Agatha Christie book was left in the spot where Peter had been sitting, along with several Gobstones he and James had been throwing back and forth. (Peter winning.) _''Not fair! Your double-jointed thumbs gives you massive advantage!''_

Other than a rare few details, everything in the room was plastic, white and mint green.

Sirius hated it.

His dark heavy jacket against the snow-white texture around him created an irritating contrast. It didn't exactly feel welcoming. The room was calling a flood into his ribs, charging electricity to skitter up his arms. It was like a tornado that could fit into his palms, forcing him to keep them clenched into fists. He almost huffed at the irony, his hands now white from the mere pressure.

He couldn't understand why he was acting like this.

He should've learned by now.

It was Saturday, 27th of August, 1977, one day before the full moon, one day since they'd last seen Remus awake and 2 hours since the Healers at this awful hospital had given them anything useful _._ Several owls had been passed from the marauders to the world waiting outside, only a few of them ignored.

Mr and Mrs Potter had sent two, Mr Pettigrew one, and Lily Evans three.

While the first one from Lily had been ignored, the last two didn't really apply for an answer. Because how do you answer to angry letters just on the verge of turning to an exploding howler because _why won't you let me in? where are you? what happened with remus last night?_

James hadn't, and still didn't have the balls to answer.

Sirius managed to convince Peter to write the replies for the other three letters.

Things had just been working against him lately. First off, the lady at the front desk had given them a very hard time because apparently a lot of people had dropped in that Friday night, claiming that their dose of fire whiskey had been poisoned to the point of the most horrible hangover ever. But once the marauders asked in very hushed and quiet voices which floor werewolves belonged to, the front stopped their refusal to cooperate. Then, after 5 minutes of arguing (only to be coughed at and interrupted by annoyed people waiting in the now formed line behind them) they found the Healer-in-Charge, who gave them the same silent treatment, soon enough placing them in a patient room with Remus cuffed to the bed. Treating werewolves wasn't something most Healers signed up to, but after the near to heart-breaking shouts all three boys had managed to heave out, there was nowhere else to go.

It was only after giving Sirius a suspicious glance, asking him as much as three times to go up to the second floor and get his sniffing checked out, that the Healer got to work. Unlike Peter, who was more than happy to help adjust Remus awkward angle at the bed, the Healer didn't as much as touch Remus.

And now they had ended up setting their camp in the third floor's waiting room.

''Good Godric, what is it with you two and pacing?'' Peter frowned. ''You know what? We need to regroup. Distract ourselves for a moment. Tell you what, let's blow something up instead. Way better method to let off some steam.''

''Shut up. I'm _thinking_.''

Peter grinned. "That's a first.. _ouch_!" The smile quickly dropped and he was left to aid his arm, sure a bruise would from the hexed book-punch. "Not fair, you pretty much handed me that one."

Sirius went back to pacing. Words tumble out from his mouth, stressed fingers pushing through his thick dark hair.

''A small ' _He'll be okay'_ wouldn't hurt, would it?'' he continues, feeling like he is running straight for the cliff. ''Would it?!''

James bit down on his knuckles. "He's been through hell millions of times, he'll come back."

"Maybe we should take him to one of them Muggle Hospitals. At least they'd say something. They wouldn't just circle around like this, giving us no answers I mean how dare they?"

"We'll get some answers soon, Padfoot. Just… be patient."

Sirius shook his head. "What if it will be too late by then?" he mumbles. "We don't know anything, and no matter how drugged up these Healers are on calm-potions, they're not helping. They're not doing enough." Whenever they asked, whatever they asked, the Healers would just smile. As if that was perfectly fucking acceptable thing to do, bloody _smiling_ , when around sick people.

"We don't know anything," James agreed, pushing himself off the wall to face Sirius. He had been hoping to be greeted by the same calm grey eyes that usually were able to convince him everything was going to be all right. He wasn't. "We need to do something."

"To hell with waiting."

Moving for the first time in hours tore at their bones and muscles, but the three boys kept moving and in a team effort they pushed the two doors open to the big corridor with the polished floor and the many patients and visitors rushing left and right.

"Maybe we're thinking about this from the wrong perspective," James continued. "I mean, the full moon isn't that far away after all, and we've seen Moony do some weird wolf behaviour the closing days. Even if it's small things. Eating 2 plates filled with bacon just isn't normal."

"But I've done that," Peter frowned.

"And I applaud you for it.. But what if it doesn't have anything to do with the furry problem? What if there's something else. Just like how people react differently to curses, maybe he's still in the flight-"

Sirius came to a halt. "Wait," he interrupted, making James go quiet. Behind them, floating like a river around the three marauders, other visitors and patients were grumbling in irritation at their small blockage. They were like three rocks in the middle of a large steam – soon or enough, the water would pull them along.

"What?" James asked.

"Cursed. That's it! Remus is cursed."

"Well yeah, he has been for some years now," Peter muttered, eyes locked down to his hands. All of his fingernails were ruined, some of them ruined to the point of bleeding. Stupid.

"No, he wouldn't be like this because of… his furry little problem," Sirius spoke in a low voice. "I've read about this. Someone must've thrown something dark on him. He's… it's not right. I've read about it. Loads of books on casting and dooming…" His voice sank to hissing. "Illegal books."

James leaned closer. "What illegal books?"

"Back at… My… _mothers_ ," Sirius spit the word in the disgust. "Our, no - _their_ library is filled with them, of course. Banned books on the Dark Arts. I grew up with them. My father tried to hide them but Reg and I made a point to find all of them and…"

Peter bit his lip. "But why would someone curse Remus?"

" _Who_ …"

Both Peter and James stayed locked on Sirius, waiting nervously for him to elaborate. He had been on edge for a very long time – Remus' unconscious state drawing him closer and closer to something very unstable. The two of them weren't met with the wilderness Sirius often bared, like they expected. Instead, all traces from his lack of sleep were gone, just like any evidence of doubt.

''We need to get the hell out of here,'' he spoke after a while. ''I need to punch something. Then we go and steal that bloody book.''

After an ephemeral exchange of worried, rather doubtful glances between the two bystanders, Sirius eventually cleared his throat and took a step forward.

''Well I'm not going back to that hellhole all by myself. Are you coming or not?''

* * *

It seemed as though they'd prepared breakfast for a company of 10 hungry beasts, not one small and tired witch.

Hermione barely got any breakfast down, whether it was because of Frank Longbottom and Alice Fortescue was sitting opposite to her, eyes bright and alive and present, or because they kept asking her questions, she wasn't sure. It felt like it should've been the opposite roles; she asking the questions, them looking at her like she was some kind of alien…

They were in a beautiful space adjacent to the dining room with a glass roof, which offered a superb view of the dark clouds above. The smell of toast, roasted coffee beans and oranges danced in the steam rising from the food.

"So how did you end up at Marlene's?" Frank asked as he popped yet another grape into his mouth. "Don't remember you from Hogwarts."

Hermione was quick to go for a piece of waffle, hoping it would give her some time to think as she chewed. Whoever had been in her room this morning had been right; she'd been in a situation like this before, and she knew the rules. Time Travel was based on not changing things. Lies were her only option for now.

"I went to Beauxbatons," she finally decided after painfully gulping down the piece.

Frank leaned back with his arms crossed, looking impressed. "Wicked."

"Yeah, but how did you end up over there?" Alice pursed her lips. "You don't ze the accent, non?"

Racking her brain for answers, Hermione murdered a piece of toast before sighing, relieved of the extensive research she'd done on the Philosophers Stone during her first year at Hogwarts. "Nepotism. I was recommended by Nicholas Flamel," she explained, mentioning the Alchemist like an old friend.

"Sounds familiar… That's Dumbledore's acquaintance, isn't it?"

"The world is small sometimes," Frank smiles, and Hermione wished she could tell him. That she could explain what a wonderful brave hero their son would grow up to be, how he'd saved them all. But she couldn't. She couldn't say a thing. Hermione carefully glanced up at the duo. She'd been careful to stare at them too much, not wanting to freak them out.

She imagines how things could've gone differently.

If they'd taken her to St. Mungo's, that is. If they'd found and most surely questioned her scars and bruises and marks and how she didn't have any trace on her or any connection to the world and time they lived in. From previous experiences, Healers at the Wizarding Hospital were more than formal, their questions direct and honest. Suppose this was the better option – even if she was sitting with the future parents of Neville Longbottom. Even if they were Aurors in training who more than surely were practicing interrogating methods.

Hermione shook her head. "Thank you for all of this, bringing me there." She paused, remembering how Alice had mentioned how they figured it was just a raw reaction to the alcohol served at the fancy party Hermione had stumbled into last night. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Do you remember falling?"

"Not exactly."

"What's the last thing you recall?"

A nervous blush spread to her ears. And although she had to guard her every word, she had the feeling they were testing her. To see what excuse she would come up with. She needed them to trust her, so Hermione gave them the lie closest to the reality of her collapse.

"It was right before seeing the Weasleys," Hermione finally said, admitting to the truth they all had seen. From the look of it, this was only confirming things they'd already decided or hinted at.

"They're scared, you know," Frank raise an eyebrow, but he must've seen the heartbroken look because he's quick to build onto his own worlds. "For you of course, not so much for themselves. I mean, mostly they're worried."

Hermione grinned. Despite time, the Weasley's brought the warmth behind the word _family_. No matter how far apart they may be Hermione would always hold them close in her heart.

Alice stayed silent, never blinking eyes watching closely on every fidget that ran through Hermione's body. Frank, on the other hand, played naïve and scratched his head.

"So you... just to clarify, you _don't_ know them?"

"I don't. Heard lots of them from their relative though."

That spiked interest, and Alice leaned forward. "What relative?"

Hermione bit her lip. "They're not… here… anymore."

It hurt lying. It stung an awful lot even just lying about Ron. Giving off the impression as if he were dead, even though there was no truth to her words, still made her feel nauseous. The two Aurors offered their condolences in soft mutters, but Hermione didn't thank them.

"It was weird seeing the Weasley's," she went on. "They looked so familiar to… To _my_ Weasley."

"So you had, what, a relapse?" Alice clarified, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Why? I see ugly people on the streets all the time and I don't fall to the ground because they all remind me of Frank," she rambled at a quick pace, finishing it off with a million pound smile, though only lasting a good three seconds because Frank bumped her shoulder.

"Quit pretending you're not obsessed with my face, Fortescue."

The two Aurors dived into that staring contest Hermione had already witnessed one time before, the night of her arrival to this foreign place and time. They seemed to have a telepathic conversation, no real sign of conversing other than eyes squinting and lips twisting. Then, finally, the two nodded at each other in a synced up, simultaneous nod before eventually turning back to Hermione again.

After that (after earning some reliability) Hermione was left to listen to the loud bickering and jokes and introductions by Frank and Alice. Alice kept gesticulating with her hands, swinging around in the space above and around her until eventually Frank had gotten enough of misfortunate slaps to his head that he simply just took her hands and held them. They told Hermione of the Auror training, only now and then piping in questions about how things could be different from French and central Europe teachings, but they made it easy to listen. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Hermione tuned out. Even when she tried to stay with it, her mind had already wandered, the voice waking her up stirring too much worries.

The conversation swirls on around her, but she's deaf to it.

She sits, speechless, nodding every so often when their smiles lights up. Then her eye catches a shooting star - or what appears to be. As it plummets, it grows, gaining speed until it slices through the room, exploding in a burst of light. All happy words go silent as a small patronus - graceful and gleaming - materialized amid the three. When it speaks, the patronus has Alastor Moody's sonorous voice.

The words are forging and nonsensical: code words. And judging from how both Frank and Alice rise from their seats in a hurry, Hermione concludes that the patronus has sent a warning. She falls back in her seat, thinking back at a wedding that didn't seem to far away yet…

 _The Ministry has fallen_ echoes through her veins, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

Hermione only snaps back to the two Aurors when their smiles fall flat and weak, failing to play calm. "Nothing to worry about," Alice rushed. "We just got to speak with some people."

"Alastor Moody is coming around to check on the wards," Frank nodded, seeing her confusion. "Honestly, he's quite frightening at first, and besides, you've barely eaten anything. You stay here and finish eating and we'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

As Frank and Alice disappears behind a door, Hermione flies up from her seat, eyes scanning the room. She could leave – right now. She could run, hide, do her research, find an explanation to this era of time and get organized… then again, she didn't have a wand. It was nowhere to be found, and she hadn't found enough courage to ask about it. And surely, leaving abruptly would just stir more suspicion, the one thing she didn't want on her back.

She had to be calm. She had to play this right.

''Pull yourself together, Hermione. Pull yourself together,'' she scolded himself, his hands gripping onto the table behind her. A dim bulb hung above her, just barely staying alive, just barely offering him any light in the dining room. ''This is just a big mistake.'' A hand run over her face, clearing out the wrinkles. ''You'll find a way back. Get it together.''

Glancing at the door, Hermione makes a decision.

There had been a small gap by the door, yellow light flooding in a single strip down to the red carpet, spilling secrets of the private meeting in the room on the other side of the wall. Hermione squinted his eyes. There was an Auror she didn't recognize from anywhere, the old command of The Order of the Phoenix who'd learned her constant vigilance, a lady with a dress suit and Alice and Frank. Without very much thought she leans closer to the sound of discreet talking, anxiously tapping her fingers against her thighs.

Alestor was interrogating the two Aurors in training. "There were attacks not far from here. You sure she's been here all night?"

"Yes. No one has been in or out of her room, we would've been alerted," Frank protests.

"… and you checked her wand?"

"We did,"Alice nods, and although Hermione feels a bit betrayed, she's also not that surprised. Alice was a good actress, not to mention a bloody good Auror."Just a simple _Callesco.._. She had a bag… We can't seem get it to open."

"Interesting… And why are there no records or files under her name?"

The lady in the dress suit crossed her arms, frowning. Hermione assumed she was from the Ministry, judging from the way she spoke. "Why do I have to keep repeating that we don't have any records of her, let alone know if the name offered to us even is her real name… Really, Moody, she's terribly young to be recruited, don't you think? She can't be older than 19 at most."

The unknown Auror next to Moody spoke up for the first time. ''… Can we trust her?''

''Well, these days… who's reliable?'' Moody gruffs.

''Longbottom and Fortescue is,'' the lady from the Ministry offers, while the unfamiliar Auror grumbles out a hard '' _I'm_ reliable,'' at the same time.

Clammy sweat rolled down Hermione's back. She'd never been at this side of this before. Sure, she'd seen the Order sorting through rumors back during the war period, scanning through suspicious individuals who could be loyal to the Dark Army, but not once had she thought she'd been the one suspected. Words stung like bites – they talked about her age as if she was still a child, like it would be impossible to find a19-year-old at the battlefront.

Oh how wrong they were.

At that moment, Hermione felt 100 years older than just 19.

Her focus locks back to the door when Mad-Eye, despite his unsentimental nature, draws a deep breath, preparing for a speech he clearly didn't want to make. ''Yes, Jiggers, you _are_ one in a million. As for you, Marrow, I know the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance speaks in the definition of legitimacy, but this is a matter of security. For everyone. Everything, even the strongest artifacts, can be manipulated. Do you not find it odd that she just appeared out of nowhere on those yellowing pages? Not to mention creating a 12-page gap between this years first graders? So my answer still stands; no. We do not know what happened to Miss Granger, or what she did before she arrived last night. We need more information before we can let her-''

Both Hermione and Alice's lips fall open when Frank cut the Auror off. ''She needs to heal. She doesn't seem to have... landed, yet.''

''I don't care. I need to talk with her,"the Auror, Jiggers, shook his head."We can hardly trace anything about her... We need more answers.''

''But she needs to rest.''

But before the Auror could object or the lady from the Ministry could form any protests a loud boom stunned the building. Hermione stilled, for second thinking she must've triggered an alarm. A privacy-ward perhaps. She shot back from her hiding spot by the door, her fists clenched and her teeth gnawing on his fingers. Before her head could put the pieces together, Mad-Eye fell into a very familiar stance.

"Death Eaters."

* * *

 **AN:** _ **I got up at like 5am and made all these goddamn pancakes and finished this chapter for you. Until next time! (ouch, next time..? yeah, hopefully.)**_


	3. three

_**AN: IT'S ALIIVE ! Salutations, peeps. *attempts gang sign* 8~)**_

* * *

Hermione Granger was nowhere close to home.

She was in a place where Death Eaters still existed. Where Death Eaters wasn't only mentioned in trials and history books, but in the present. In warning and pain. She could hear Mad-Eye Moody's commanding voice bark in the next room.

"Kill the lights!" Someone swept a _Nox_.

Everything goes dark.

"Take position – Marrow, run! The others… They need to know this place isn't safe anymore."

Hermione wants to run too, but she can't. Her wand is nowhere to be found, no matter how desperate – and Death Eaters are starting to swallow the whole house with rapid fire and blitzing cracks. Hermione stays pressed against the hardwood floor as splinters hit her head. Next to her, it's as if a shadow swirls around to hold her hand.

" _FRANK!"_

She's still in the dining room with the glass ceiling, and although the Aurors next door made all lamps scatter, the ceiling above offers just enough light to bathe the room in a scarlet moon. A speck – a night bird, or a bat –framed in the moon's surface approaches rapidly and then, before Hermione could close her eyes for the impact, glass fall down on her like a waterfall. Far below the stream of glass, the shadow beside her swifts eerily.

Someone throws a _Bombarda_ , and the door separating Hermione from the rest is ruined. "The girl – get the girl!"

Death Eaters drop from the ceiling, and somewhere in the distance, Hermione could hear Frank call out how they'd been surrounded. Flashes of green light splinter the darkness. Sparks explode on the room's chassis and Hermione cries in fury. Everything around her has a blurry edge to it, and as the small drops of glass keep falling from her back, Hermione feels how things start to slow down for her. How she is starting to collect herself; her own breath and role in the attack.

Somewhere, somehow, a body slumps down to the floor next to her. The face is covered with a mask, but Hermione doesn't make move to reveal whoever was hiding behind it. Instead, crawling pain brings her closer to the body, trembling hands searching for a weapon.

When her fingers finally find it, she doesn't hesitate to swing around and fill her space with a _Protego_. Magic jet out of the wand and her shirt snaps in the after shake that travels from the tip of her fingers up her wrist through her veins straight into her core. _Stupefy_.

Someone close in on her, throwing a spell that makes her bones snap. Her ribs no longer a cage, but floating inside of her.

Hermione's screaming filled the whole house, and as her bones ruin and grow hollow, and someone stumbles into the room. It's Alice, her back turned and her wand poised as she duels a dark figure at least twice her size. The fight is quick, but Hermione is watching it through a stillness. She could see every flick, ever flinch, everything. Everything is slowed down and she's able to catch a bouncing curse with yet another _Protego_ before it hits.

" _Incacerata!"_

" _FRANK_!"

Running. Hermione bolts forth, wand in hand, vengeance in her eyes. Up ahead, a Death Eater stands stolidly, tall and black against the pale light from the moon. She points her wand, fires a jet of red light. _Expelliarmus_. The figure doesn't move, merely lets it streak by it's head. Chest heaving, Hermione takes aim again. Her opponent parries the curse with ease.

 _Confringo_!

The wand still not bent under her will, the curse steals her balance and she is off her heels and crashing to the floor. She hits her head on a chair, left like a ragged doll with no hope for getting up again. Sparks skitter off the closest wall, not far from her head. She slams her back against it, trying to press up. She can't breathe.

It's as if the air itself is burning.

Someone is closing in on her, but she can't move. It's all too slow. Things end before Hermione can even find the beginning. The new company fires a volley of Stunning Spells, sending someone who's crouched in a corner to a heavy spasm. _Crack_.

Although the house is emptied of hostiles within the next 10 seconds, spells keep lighting up the room, thundering footsteps scanning the rooms. They're securing the building – the ones who are left standing, that is. Checking rooms. The first one to enter the ruined dining room where Hermione lays paralyzed is a stranger – the Auror who's name she couldn't remember, too shocked by the slimy feeling that had captured her inside her head.

Meet Graham Jiggers.

Square-jawed, strong build, a born fighter with something wary around his eyes. He wore a clean-cut suit, but there was a sense of danger to him; he's scarred, on the inside.

The moment he sees her, he fires.

Her quick reflexes saves her life, and she shelters behind a wall of spells as sparks flew left and right. A non-verbal _Expelliarmus_. Blocked. _Everte Statum_. Blocked. Something that sounded like _Locomotor Mortis_. Blocked. _Stupefy_. _Glacius_. _Flipendo_.

They never seemed to stop.

It didn't even stop when Frank burst into the room, yelling at them to stop. They didn't, and his words were drowned in the crashes and burst of magic exploding from the duel. Hermione thought about running, but there was no time. When she played her defence, it was already too late before the Auror cut through.

"Seize fire!" Hermione's head kept locked on her target in front of her, but her eyes widened slightly at the voice. "Seize fire! Jiggers – _damn it_ , seize fire!"

The stern orders give her just enough time to take a leap of risk. Hermione close her eyes.

 _Crack_.

Hermione, not knowing where she was heading, was relieved to find in the midst of her Disapparition, that she could feel someone alongside, fingers gripped tightly in her hand. The door of Grimmauld Place rushes forward, the eyes of the serpent knocker flashing, then

there is a burst of purple light, a tortured scream pushed from her own lungs and... and then the world spins as Hermione lies on her back on a bed of cobblestones, still wet from rain.

The shadow that had held her hand slowly move away from her, hovering in the air somewhere above.

Small puddles cover the ground among the stones and between rows of green and lush leaves moving gently in the trees. There's a girl with frizzy brown hair and trembling lips sits slumped in untamed edelweiss and buttercups leaning against a streetlamp just outside the house she called _home_.

He watched her move to the door. He watched her get denied and heart broken.

The shadow linger, watching her carefully. A decision was made. He needed to do something about her situation. He had to do something with this time traveller who didn't belong. He could feel it sweeping from her – she was about to burst into shock. He'd been around for enough eons to know what happened next. She would need him. It was decided. He would intervene.

Hermione Granger was far far from home, and she'd chosen to apparate _here_.

Why?

This time there was not as much as a glimpse of something welcoming. Walls crawl with reflected rain, oozing like oil down the grimy windows. The rain had stopped, but water was still rushing gurgles down the gutters. A pack of rats darts across the road in single-file and disappears into a drainpipe. A church bell rings across the neighbourhood, and Hermione Granger waits. Waits for something to change, for Harry to pop up, grab onto her arm and apparate them somewhere bright. She _would_ do it alone - but she _couldn't_. In fact, she wanted nothing more but to leave this street house and memory, but she couldn't find herself to move anymore.

Everything was working against her.

The war had _ended_ – why was she still fighting?

Everything was being ripped away.

Because how else do you explain banging your curled fist against a door, begging to be let in, only to be met face to face with a complete stranger? And how do you explain to that stranger, a younger boy with black hair and blank eyes, how this house was her only sense of security when your voice cracks and breaks on every syllable… How do you stop him from closing the door on you when you can barely see, barely _stand_ – because suddenly the whole world comes crashing down on you.

That's the thing. You couldn't.

Merlin, her head was a mess. Growing up in a school filled with ghosts still wasn't enough to prepare her for this. Seeing Molly and Arthur, and Mad-Eye, and Frank and Alice. It couldn't be. She was too wound up counting ghosts, survivors of this new time and place that she didn't even notice the pull of magic sweeping down just a few meters away.

 _Crack_.

The moment James' wobbly legs landed on the pavement in front of number 12 Grimmauld Place a boost of pure energy pulsated in the veins of small towns all over his body. In mere seconds his clenched fists dropped, the frown dissolving. The worry he had mistook for rage evaporated– all senses suddenly focusing on one thing and one thing only. A tiny little shadow, just a few meters away.

Peter noticed the same figure. Heavy, stumbling feet splashed in the pools of rain and against the wet ground as they itched closer. "Who is that?"

"No idea," James exhaled. "This feels bad though. We should go."

And suddenly the book of forbidden spells hiding in a bookshelf in the Black's very much illegal library was swept away from all three boys minds. All plans of breaking in, stealing the book, finding the curse that Remus had been hit with along with the accommodating reversal for it and then getting on with the treatment and revenge plan for whoever sick bastard had put it on Remus... everything was stolen away.

Instead, all three boys stay frozen to the ground, staring at the girl.

"You sure? What about the book?"

"No, we should go. Right now. She could be dangerous…"

The sound of someone speaking made the girl jump, head snapping up and searching for the new company. James stood the closest, and when she met James' gaze, it looked like she melted. Her whole frozen posture stilled, and for a second it looked like she was about to smile. Then, after scanning each other, after waiting for the other to speak first, Hermione seemed to have had more than enough time to study him. Something must've gone wrong, because soon enough both her eyebrows knitted together in an angry frown.

"No," she breathed. "That's not right… this is not…" She shrunk back into her frozen ball again, head shaking furiously. Running steps brought the marauders closer, but not close enough to pose a threat, or rather, enter the risk zone. "Not green, not green..."

They stand like this, utterly still, the moment fraught.

"This is freaking me out," James confessed in a hushed, hurried tone. "We need to _go_."

"But she's hurt. She couldn't be one of them if she's like this… Maybe we should… what if, Sirius… maybe your parents could-"

Peter scratched the back of his head from where he had just gotten a light slap. It seemed as if he was always saying the wrong things lately, and judging by the look Prongs and Pads was giving him, not to forget the warning shuddering from the girl, he hadn't gotten off to a very good start so far.

He was only trying to help her. That's what he told himself – _he was only trying to help_ \- as he pulled out his wand, a soft _Tergeo_ spoken under his breath. He was only trying to _help_ , but the moment the dark stains on her clothes faded under the spell he casted on her, brown eyes met his blue. Only a second... and that's all it took.

It was like a flip had been switched.

The girl screamed, trying to scramble as far away from him as possible, only find that she hit the wall behind her, trapped. Fingers hastily started scratching and gripping. She was struggling against her own self-control, whimpered cries pouring out of her.

''It's okay,'' James tried.

She stared at him like he was speaking in another language.

''It's okay! He's a friend!''

''No, no, no, no,'' she chokes, shaking her head in terror. Peter watched as the girl dug her fingers into her dark hair and twisted, like she was trying to stop a barrage of thoughts from attacking. ''Wake me up, wake me up. WAKE ME UP!''

James' face was hard. The moment hangs, then: ''The _fuck_ did you do, Peter?'' he snapped.

''I didn't do anything!''

''Bullshit.''

''I didn't!''

''She's latching out, you did _something_ -''

Gasping, Peter threw a hand out. ''I didn't even touch her! I was just trying to help,'' Peter defended himself, the mere suggestion uprooting a strange and odd sense of outrage and anguish that conveyed how he felt about that perfectly. ''Is she going to-''

''No, don't! _Don't_ touch her.''

All three boys must've lost focus in the outburst, because suddenly the girl was up and on the move. She doesn't make it very far; Sirius and James blocking her path like a barricaded wall. She noticed them a second too late, crashing into Sirius chest. She literally bounced away from him, petrified eyes staring up at the two boys.

James had seen a panic attack before. He had seen Lily help Mary come back from one once.

"You need to calm down," he echoed words, though not at all as soft and warm as Lily had said them. Then again, Lily was brilliant a witch.

Then the girl, Hermione, closed the space he'd put between them. Suddenly she was right there, and then his wrist was grabbed – fingers tightly wrapped to the point where it hurt. The three boys flinched, and James found himself holding his breath. His first instinct was to pull away and move into a defensive stance, but for some reason he didn't.

There was something in her eyes… the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.

''I'm not dreaming, am I?'' she asked, hardly a whisper.

Her grip around his wrist falls, her eyes flaming back and forth between him and the other two boys surrounding her. When she lands on James again she gasp for air, her eyes panicked.

''I'm not dreaming.''

"Hey.'' Planting his hands and gripping her shoulders, James tries to catch the girl's attention. "You need to breathe. You're safe. Pete wouldn't harm a fly. You're going to be okay. Just breathe for me, okay?" James himself has to take a deep breath before continuing. "Can you breathe with me?"

"Breathe?" she repeats like she's never heard the word before.

''Yes. Just try to breathe.''

Although Hermione had never actually experienced the _Anapneo_ spell, she imagined it to be something like this. Punctuated lungs were healed and rushes to be filled with oxygen to ease her strangled, suffocated nerves. The whole way through the process, Harry was guiding her, making her chest imitating his as they took breaths together – then a _crack_ , a new voice came to ring in her ears, muscles rapidly turning solid again.

"STAY BACK!''

Sirius and Peter instantly took a step away. James' shoes stayed glued to where they were.

''STEP AWAY FROM HER!'' the voice bellowed.

It was the same Auror from before, Hermione realized. ''I repeat, _step away from the girl_ ,'' he ordered with a brusque tone. James Potter didn't need to be told twice. Once he was driven away, Hermione grasped the stolen wand from the Death Eater, raised. The young animagus stumbled back, ready to stop her from getting hurt. But it was already too late. Hermione had already fired off her first offense, sheltering herself behind a _Protego_ as Graham Jiggers threw a set of spells at her.

Taking a different stance, straightening her back and raising her chin, she prepared for another duel.

"You coward," Graham Jiggers warned. "I knew you were one of them… Running away… running _here_ \- proves it."

 _Petrificus Totalus_. She was hit with exhaustion after the first throw, and she already knew she would lose, but what at cost? No, she couldn't risk it.. _Stupefy_. Throwing spells with a stranger's wand was a strain on her efficiency, not to mention her magic itself. _Incarcerous, Expulso!_ It wasn't the same. It felt drained. She fought hard, but it wasn't enough. She crumpled to the ground from a _Stupefy_ , lying in defeat on the rough ground. Small ripples ran through her body.

She hadn't noticed when Mad-Eye and the others had apparated to the scene, but once she fell, loud words echoed down the street. "Jiggers you incompetent fool! Stop it!"

Graham Jiggers adds another spell for safety, _Expelliarmus_ , a blinding, jagged jet of white light, much like lightning, flying through the air. The stolen wand flew from her hand. Once the sight was clear, someone limped forward to the defeated witch, and there was a short inhale.

Mad-Eye's growling baritone was quick to fill the space. "Are you out of your mind? I ordered you to _stand down_ , what were you _thinking_? You disobeyed and you ran after her!"

Graham Jiggers looks like he's just taken a punch straight to his jaw, because it's clenched and red and firm. His defence is already written all over him. The accusation comes fast and steady:

"She… she brought them to the house. Can't you see she's one of them? They came here because she scouted the place out before-"

Hermione chokes out a heartbroken "No!" but it only invokes more hate. He points his wand at her again, and although both Frank, Alice and Mad-Eye takes a conscious step closer ready to stop him, he doesn't notice. Or he doesn't care.

"You brought them."

" _No_."

The leader of the group shakes his head, eyes twitching. "I believe it was strictly specified that she had gone through enough already, was it not?'' Moody barked. "McGonagall will have our heads for this. And although I value your caution, your logic is far from reach, Jiggers."

The street is silent in shame and anger and panting lungs and pained hearts. The Auror, Jiggers, shrinks in his glued position still right in front of Hermione, jaw set and eyes narrowed, but cast down to his feet, as if in deep thought. He looks divulged.

Now kneeling in front of Hermione, a painful and pitiful grimace pulls on Alice's soft features. Hermione hadn't been able to catch it in the chaos of the fight, but now, this close, this still, she feel how a gasp falls from her lips as she noticed the blood.

"Were you hit?" she asks, staring at the blood dripping down Alice's cheek.

"No." The blood that belonged to someone else was wiped off. "What about you?"

For the first time that night, Hermione answered honestly.

"I'm scared."

Mad-Eye huffs, but it doesn't sound judging of humoured – just acknowledging. He shoots a glance at the body left on the floor, surrounded by the remains of the battle.

"We need to move," he grunted. "Fortescue and Longbottom, you'll go back to the house and help me with…" he skips over the word corpse, baring in mind the three witnesses standing just to the side. "-the damage."

All three boys seemed to have some difficulty with decrypting the old Auror, but it was only one Sirius Black who read straight through the awkward silence. He needed help with a _body_. Someone had died.

"Yes, sir." Alice and Frank disappear with two _cracks_ , going ahead.

Next, The Marauders. "You lads, are not to speak to anyone about this, understood?"

"Oh… O-Of course."

"Scatter. Now. Home with you." They're quicker than lighting to apparate, quick to leave the scene stolen from a nightmare. After a sigh, the final judgement is placed. "Graham, you clean up and take Miss Granger to Mungos. You're to help her, not hurt her. She's already hurt enough I'm surprised she's still standing."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

It was the methodical _beep_ of her own heart that brought Hermione back to the living.

There was silence as deafening as a siren, and a strange sensation throughout her body, toes and fingers tingling as she slowly awoke from the dead.

And then came the pain.

Her head was burning with intense heat, as if someone had lit a match off inside her skull leaving raging fire to occupy her thoughts and to drown her mind. Her whole body felt heavy – weighed down with undeniable exhaustion that had settled deep in the marrow of her bone. It was much like an elephant sitting on her chest; every breath feeling constricted, like her lungs were pushing at her ribs. After a while managed to prize open her eyelids that had fallen heavy. Brown eyes awoke: artificial white light filling her entire vision and aggravating the headache.

Her vision was blurry, impaired with spots of black like odd squirts of ink on paper. She tried blinking several times; her eyesight taking a few moments to register anything other than darkness. Eventually the black smudges began to subside until disappearing altogether – leaving a plain white ceiling in sight.

Above her grey shadows moved, making sounds she couldn't quite make out.

But she could hear the beeping. With much effort, Hermione turned her head to the noise, but saw only greyish blobs to her left. The beeping grew more erratic, and the grey shapes began to shout.

Hermione's breathing slowed, and she closed her eyes, the beeping and voices fading away.

The next time she awoke, the pain had lessened. Her breaths were only a dull throbs, and her headache was almost unnoticeable. She blinked her eyes open, wincing at the harsh flood light above her. It was quiet, all except for the small _beep beep_ again. This time when she looked for it she could see the culprit: a heart monitor, chugging along at a steady rate.

 _Where am I?_

''Ron?'' she wheezed. '' _Harry_?''

Hermione sat up, wincing slightly as her chest protested. It felt like her muscles were being filleted off of her bones. There were shadows of bruises on her knees and a single cut she didn't know the origin of, velvet red staining the bed.

 _Where was Auror Jiggers? Mad-Eye? The Longbottoms?_

The room was small, just barely fitting the bed and equipment. Everything was white. The walls, the floor, the bed, the sheets. Even Hermione's own skin seemed to adapt, paling and almost trying to camouflage itself into the room. The bed underneath her was hard and uncomfortable, like she had been the first to use it.

She wasn't sure where the thought came from, but she didn't want to stay. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. _Now_. And yet Hermione couldn't do a thing because her body refused to cooperate, and wires worked as restraints preventing any potential escape. Tears filled her eyes as she was overwhelmed with an abundance of emotions; frustration, confusion, anxiety and fear creeping into her foggy mind and fuelling to the erratic pounding of her heart. The fog twisted, acting like an impenetrable curtain of smog. Droplets escaped her eyes and began to burn her cheeks in fast rivulets, rolling down from her chin to fall to the pasty bedcover.

Hermione was lying in the middle of a tiled room, the only other occupants various machines set up around her that, she assumed, were to keep her alive. The only exit was a single metal door, it's window meshed with wire.

Standing was a little difficult, but with shaky legs she managed. She reached for a nicely folded sheet of fabric on the table next to the bed, pleasantly surprised at the trousers at least three sizes too big. She put them on as quickly as she could, pulling the drawstring around the waist as tight as it would go. When she was done she turned towards the door, eyes narrowed and heart drumming quickly.

It didn't take long until two men dressed in lime green robes walked in, both easily identified as Healers. Judging by the way the one closest to her stood – a hand in his coat and body tucked in defensibly – the man had his wand with him. It was too late to discover anything else though, because at that moment both men froze at the sight of the empty bed.

''Where-''

Hermione took this as her chance.

She clenched her fist and punched it straight into the man's shoulder. It wasn't strong enough to send him to the floor, but it was strong enough to make him loose his sense of balance. He let out a strangled cry before tripping back, fear evident on his face. She grabbed his wand, slightly unbalanced and heavy in her hand, pointing it at the two of them.

"Where am I?" Hermione demanded.

The man gulped, eyes wide. "St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries! Please, miss, don't do anything that could-"

"How long have I been here?" she pressed, eyes luminous.

"12 hours! _Please_ -"

12 hours? That didn't make any sense to her. She was still in London but no one had come to get her? Not even Harry, who would sooner blow up the entire city than let her remain in isolation. Or Ron, who would blow up the city _and_ rescue her simultaneously. No, something must've happened. She didn't know what, but they wouldn't just have left her here. Something was wrong.

Her brain was working on overdrive trying to work out her exit, taking the matters of her escape into her own hands. If something had happened to Harry or Ron she for sure wouldn't be staying. They had to stay together.

Hermione left the room after casting the _Petrificus Totalus_ on the two men and making a quick adjustment to her attire, designed to make her as inconspicuous as possible. She was still barefoot, the idea of conjuring pair of shoes slipping her mind. It would have to do for now.

Once out she found that walking in straight line while keeping a square face was beyond arduous when every fibre of her body was screaming in agony. It was nearly impossible not to bump into the people she rushed past in the long corridor of treatment rooms. Witches and wizards in lime-green robes similar to the ones who had checked her room were walking up and down in the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards, scribbling neatly into the charts. Hermione recognized the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and a bone, crossed. Halfway through a man asked if he could assist her, to which she muttered out a strangled _No, thank you_ , before picking up speed.

''If you are unsure where to go or unable to remember where you are, I would be happy to help.''

''I'm alright,'' Hermione assured.

There's was a manacled woman standing by a small window – middle-aged, pale, her hair ragged wisps, almost bald. Her eyes locked on Hermione, tracking her as she passed. Hermione met her gaze, as if she couldn't look away – and the woman raised one hand, putting a single finger to her lips in a _sshhh_ motion.

There was a twisting dark scar lies across her throat, ropy and thick like a strand of liquorice. The colour of old blood. With her finger still to her lips, the woman smiles at Hermione, shaking her head _No_ very slowly.

Hermione forced herself to look away.

She made it as far to the end of the corridor, almost, _almost_ making it to the stairs when a high-piercing alarm went off. Hermione bit her lip, taking a step away from everyone. A fatal mistake, she realized. A girl closest to her noticed. She frowned at Hermione, giving her a quick scan. And then her grey eyes widened. Hermione turned to see where the girl was staring. There at the edge of her now transfigured hospital gown was a small trace of blood.

Damn.

 _So close._

Hermione lashed out, flicking her wand and momentarily stunned the girl. It was just enough time for her to refocus, building a strategy as the old man that had offered her help closed in on her. She flicked her wrist, slashing the wand in the air as she muttered a spell making the man loose his footing. She was left gasping for air – an explosion of pain erupting inside of her. What felt like floating magma filled her stomach and poured down her legs making her movements towards the staircase excruciating and slow.

Descending the rickety stairs was a challenge itself.

Being chased down by an ominous phalanx of Healers added to the test.

Tiles exploded on the wall behind Hermione, only a second too late. A rope of yellow light singes her hair, forcing her to push faster. She whirls around just in time to see a woman launch another purple spell straight towards her, but at that exact moment Hermione lost her gripping and her legs gave up on her.

She must've fallen at least 30 steps before she slammed onto a flat surface, a whimper escaping her lips as she tried to move. Arms engulfed, and she was brought into the broad chest of Graham Jiggers.

"We really don't have time for this," he mumbled. "And neither of us have the energy."

"Let me down," she whispered. When he didn't, she cleared her throat. "Let me down, Jiggers."

He dropped her without a warning, and she would've fallen to the ground if it wasn't for his steady hand gripping onto her forearm in a wincing grip. Once she reunited with her balance he let her go, though in the corner of her eye she saw how his wand were aimed at her back, just in case. He didn't trust her.

"I didn't bring the Death Eaters to that safehouse. I swear to you, I didn't."

"Maybe so.. But I have to be careful around you. You've seen war before," he mutters behind her, walking close enough to brush against her back if she missed a step or two. It was a hard statement, rather stating a fact than a suspicion. "You've seen what it does to people, so I don't have to explain my actions earlier."

Hermione frowned. He hardly knew anything about her. "Is this your excuse of an apology?"

"… probably," he answered grimly. "Besides, Moody will make my life very difficult if I don't look after you."

* * *

Sleep didn't come.

It didn't make sense. Nothing did. She was stuck in the late 1970's, under the suspicious observation of Aurors and people she in her own time considered allies. She was without a birthday, family, friends and home. Lost in a time she didn't belong. After hours attempting to fall into slumber, she'd eventually given up. Standing up hurts, but that was only a good thing. Pain could potentially exhaust her enough to make her sleep eventually.

She started moving.

It must've made an interesting picture; a short patient in a white grown blending into the white hospital, walking around in the middle of the night. She passed large windows offering view to the city outside, but not once did she turn to look.

She managed to take two laps around the hospital before she heard him. Hermione turned around, watching how a shadow cut in to her vision. She didn't know who she'd expected, Jiggers probably, but… _Sirius_?

He was leaning against the corner of the intercepting corridors, grey moons under his eyes and eyes puffy. Now that she's seen him he stops his hiding, going back to the drumming on his knees, lips pressed into a tight line as his grey eyes wander around the space. Whatever music he's visualizing, Hermione wasn't able to catch it until the drumming brought to a halt.

"Hello," he murmurs.

"Hello," she echoes.

There's just the two of them, no one else to bare witness of her tears or his shock.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione shifted. "Nothing."

Sirius was staring at her, as if waiting for her to do something. Break apart, do a dance, yell at him like she had at Peter, but she doesn't. She does just the same as he; she waits for a continuation. An explanation, because if there's one thing she's sure of, it's that she doesn't have one. But Sirius, much like the one she had known in her own time, was stubborn. Maybe even more than herself. And so, after releasing a deep sigh, Hermione decides to take the lead.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"I was… uh.." Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Sirius sighs. She could only assume where he'd just came from. "I had to take a break from my friend's room, I'm still trying to figure everything out."

"Is he, your friend, okay?" she asked carefully.

He grimaces. "Are _you_?"

For a second she's confused of how much he could know about her so far. There couldn't be much – their meeting had been brief and short. Though she could only recall very few words of the memory at Grimmauld Place.

"Why you ask?"

"Last time I saw you you'd just duelled for 10 minutes straight. And you wouldn't be here at Mungo's if you weren't hurt, so I'm still trying to figure you out…" He frowns, trying to trace any signs from the duel. "How, and where, did you learn how to duel like that? You're not in the Auror program cause I would've heard about you. And you're not from here, or I would've heard the regular natter. There's no puzzle pieces to work with."

Hermione let the words sink in, lost herself staring at the younger version of a face still unbroken. Still filled with adolescent hope. And in a few years, it would fall.

She'd been silent for too long, so she broke through. "And what do you think?"

Sirius huffs. "About you? I don't know, but I know enough to know something's wrong," Sirius counters. "What were you doing there? What were you doing at _Grimmauld Place_?'' The words that pour out get harsh and nearly snaps all sense of peace in the room. She tries to speak but he isn't done yet. ''Out of all places in London, hell- the damn _country_ , you chose that street? Why?''

"I don't know."

"Bullocks."

Closing her eyes, she tries to centre herself. There really was no point trying to explain to him. She couldn't even explain it to herself. It didn't make any sense. She hadn't made any incarnation, enter any ward, spun any turner to get here were she was today. She could take the discussion with Sirius about Grimmauld Place at this point in time. She hadn't found an excuse yet. And there were more important things that she had to understand.

She bit her lip, glancing over the corridor he was guarding. In some room behind him, Remus was resting and waiting for her. And yet she couldn't move. She didn't know what was wrong with him; but if Sirius felt like the werewolf needed a 24-hour watch, it had to be bad.

"Your friend?" she repeated. "Is he okay?"

If Sirius had been trying to hide his surprise, he wasn't quick enough. He'd been caught off guard, and no matter how good his mask of indifference was, Hermione could see the storm building. His fingers clenched, eyes locked down on her.

Yet another short answer. "No."

"Is he… hurting?" He didn't answer her, but she knew. With a trembling hand she tried to push a strand of hair away from her face. "I'm sorry."

Sirius bit back a curse. "Are you really?" he muttered. "Maybe Pete and that Auror were right after all. Maybe this was some sort of plan that backfired."

Lips formed a small o. "I-I've never even met your friend."

"Fair. But you're suspicious, and you're our only lead so far."

Her voice sounded automatic when she answered, meeting his stare with an intensity that could break through mountains. "I would never hurt him, Sirius."

"Right."

"I don't even know what's wrong with him."

Shaking his head, the energy in his silver eyes flickered dead. He looked hopeless. "Neither do I," he whispered softly. "I mean, he won't wake up and we don't know why or how. He's slipped into a place he's not supposed to go to. Not yet anyway."

"He'll be alright, your friend."

"It jut doesn't make any sense."

"Trust me."

"I don't trust potential Death Eaters," Sirius grumbled.

Hermione shook her head. "Believe me, he'll come back to you."

When Sirius turns to leave, Hermione stays quiet and hidden enough to follow. She follows to the young werewolf's room, sneaking inside when Sirius eventually fell asleep on one of the chairs outside. It was stupid and an awful risk to take, she knew that. Of course she did. But she had to. She had to see Remus. To see that he was okay. To hold his hand, see if he was still with her really. Really there. Real.

"You'll be okay," she whispers to him.

Words stay true. The full moon rises at the 28th of August, and Remus Lupin is lost. The moment the curse from the moon fills his veins everything goes beyond him. It's the first time in years that Remus Lupin embraces the wolf. Embraces the pain, because he can finally _breathe_. He inhales. And then he runs.

* * *

 _ **AN: Oh my goodness. Did you all know that you're angels? Angels, I tell you. Gah.**_


	4. four

**AN:** **I** **'m thinking about throwing ceramic vases against walls and how good it would feel. Oh and hi, I'm still not JK Rowling.**

* * *

Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

On good days the house smelled like books and freshly baked bread. On bad days the house smelled like laundry detergent and Lysol, and when it's like today, Remus feels like either passing out or making a run for it. It's almost like being back in Potions, only nothing is as bad as sitting through Potions and it's sour and acid smell.

Thus, Remus was only left with the option of leaving the house. He left before the boiling smell of sharp detergents would stick and sink into the wallpapers, into the furniture; into his _head_.. No he wouldn't let that happen. It had happened too many times before, and he'd spent too many hours tending invisible wounds from the horrid smell he knew better.

Whenever he _did_ chose to leave his mother would always chase after him with a spray of cleanser and a feather duster that sometimes made him giggle. Though she didn't like seeing her son leave, it was easier that way. That might sound horrible, but it felt easier to try and wash guilt and pain away when he wasn't there. She didn't want him to see her crying while trying wash it all away.

Little did she know her son was doing exactly the same thing.

Remus was trying to scrub every touch, every thought, every feeling, every memory of a dream away. The moment he'd woken up from his transformation, he'd been stuck with trying to find his way back to something, _someone_ , he'd already lost.

He couldn't take it anymore. He told himself it couldn't go on like this. He couldn't let this burning mark left inside his veins step into his life and crash and rip away every sense of routine and control. Worst of all was that he didn't know why. He didn't know was _how_ a single stupid dream had suddenly made him lose grip on himself; how the wolf inside of him was starting to tear through. He couldn't even remember the dream – just the fragment of warmth and…

 _No_.

He had to do something. He had to stop staring down at his hands trying to remember how it felt being held by… fucking hell, he couldn't even remember her all correctly. Fuck.

 _Stop thinking about her._

Green eyes scanned the room for anything that could be used as a distraction from the itching sensation under his skin, caused by a dream of something and someone he didn't even remember or knew the fucking name of… no. He needed something to interrupt this feeling of being compressed and trapped by something he couldn't even see. But with his bags already packed with the majority of his few belongings, Remus was left sitting in a nearly empty room.

It wasn't much. Nothing like James' cluttered room with French windows and ornate mouldings.

Remus' room was compact and practical, only a few small details making it look like someone was actually living there. Details like his Polaroid's shoved under the bed into a stack bound with a rubber band. Details like bookshelf. Compared to James' bookshelves filled with first editions, sketchbooks, dictionaries, vases, dime-store paperbacks and translations in numerous languages, the majority of Remus' shelf were records – the vinyl's looking like dilapidated houses leaning against each other for support. Paul Simon, Zeppelin, Carl Douglas, The Who, Kraftverk, Dylan, Carole King, Marquee Moon and Floyd.

The distorted voice from his mother made his head snap up from his crouching position.

''Remus, dear, would you eat the last pancakes before we have to throw them away?''

 _Great_.

Pancakes. He might just do a backflip in excitement. Might just sing out a blessed hallelujah the top of his lungs. Might just summon a confetti canon to celebrate the occasion. But he didn't. Even if he would have, Transfiguration wasn't his strongest subject, and he probably would've messed the spell up anyway.

After a long yawn, a stretch to the roof and a quick rub of his eyes, Remus moves towards the stairs, grumbling over the food he was about to press down his throat. It was always pancakes. Not even waffles, or the American pancakes Alice once showed him, or French toast. No. Just pancakes. Always plain, boring, bloody _pancakes_.

He learned to flip pancakes in the air when he was 10 years old. On his 11th birthday he learned how to crack eggs with only one hand. At 12 he perfected his recipe with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla extract. When he was 15 and the lads came over to visit he had felt confident enough to flip the pancake behind his back. It was a marvellous trick that earned him standing ovations, hoots and slaps between his shoulder blades. That moment was one of few, rare, _good_ memories Remus had associated with pancakes. (Then there was of course that eating contest that ended with Sirius throwing up all over his homework…)

The kitchen was empty when he got there.

It looked like it had been transformed into an operation room. It looked sterilized and prepared for surgery, all the cutlery and pans shining like silver under the humming fluorescents. He found the scene kind of unnerving, honestly. He even found the stupid chopsticks intimidating. Then again, Remus was never been a big fan of operation tables.

Ducking his head into the fridge, Remus grabs a mason jar full of what looks to be something fancy, but what is actually just off-brand grape soda.

With the soda and the cold plate of pancakes, Remus escapes into what his mother liked to call the office, but what was more of a littered library.

The library is the only room in the house with a high ceiling. It was big too; big enough to fit two couches (although so far they only had one.) There were two trunks, one suitcase and a leather-shoulder bag arranged neatly at the side of the room. Next to the suitcase was the grubby envelope containing the list of supplies and books needed for this school year. Light was supplied from the big window facing the front drive. Outside the neighbours are mowing their front lawn. An immaculately dressed, eighty-year-old woman was trimming the roses growing across the street, nimble, brisk - and highly agitated. She always looked sad, that woman. What for was still unknown.

He had never asked why.

''You _sure_ you got everything packed?'' a voice called from upstairs.

Remus didn't, nor couldn't answer his mother that _yes_ , his bags had been checked at least _three times_ by now. Even if he tried, at any attempt, only hoarse cries would come out. His voice was gone, his vocal chords still adjusting and trying to fight the swollenness from the moon and the transformation.

Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

She always had, ever since she first saw him like this; wrecked by a curse no one could wash away. And even though it would never fix anything, she always makes the house fucking spotless whenever he returned. It didn't change anything. She polished every surface into a mirror and it fix anything. It didn't change the fact that the curse of the moon was pumping through her son's veins and that there was nothing she could do to save him.

He always left.

He left when the windows were drenched in spray and the vacuum cleaner sucked and pushed all the mothy dust around the house like galaxies and stars and the old pancakes and leftovers were brought out from their deep frozen tomb and when the bubbles were still swimming in the air and when the curtains were drawn back letting too much light pour in and when the radio was on full blast and everything everything _every_ _thing_ was just too much, so much, so much _noise_ , all in one big sweep.

It always ended in a headache.

Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

Usually he didn't stay this long. He should've left an hour ago, but every time he felt strong enough to stand he could feel the memory of a soft, broken voice uttering his name, _Remus, come back_. Even though he couldn't remember a face of the dream - the effect was shattering. It was like a black hole – pulling him back in again. There was something in her voice that made it impossible to leave. Maybe even to the point where he was starting to doubt that he'd dreamed in the first place. Usually he forgot about his dreams the first few minutes of waking up, but this fragment of a girl... He was starting to think it was real. It had never been a dream, or he wouldn't still feel the warmth in his palms. But how how could it be real and how could he still not remember it fully?

The wolf was angry. Angry and hurtful, letting it's claws scrape under his forehead. Talon-like fingers were threading through his net of nerves. No matter how hard he tried to scrub the thought it always came back. Getting her out of his head was like prying fungus from a window. He couldn't. Blur. Darkness of a hospital room. Blur. The voice and the feeling of someone holding his hands always drew him back, staying etched to his roots, to his hands, to his thoughts forever. Blurry. It was tormenting. She was like a permanent stain – like candle-wax on fabric, itched into the wire. No.. He couldn't wash her away.

 _Fuck_. He was staring at his hands again. _Damn it_.

This was getting outrageous. He couldn't let the memory and idea of a person he knew nothing about make him lose grip on himself. No, he had to find something. He had to find someone else. Seek refuge somewhere else.

He couldn't stay much longer. It was time to leave. _Now_ , before this mother brought the mop and chlorine out.

Jumping into his muddy shoes, Remus threaded his arms through his just as soiled coat. The movements were strangled and slow; much like trying to move two magnets together. It seemed impossible.

Despite the out of balance and numb stir, he manage to make it outside.

The wolf was howling by the time he passed the old lady with the wrinkly, trembling hands moving over the roses. The knife-like claws scratching at the back of his head accelerated, but he kept walking down the street with the warm summer with crickets chirping, cicadas chittering, and eventually the dogs barking (like they always did) when he rang the doorbell to Julie Friol.

* * *

10:57 AM.

They overslept.

''MOVE!''

Two figures crossed over King's Cross station in a blur.

Maybe oversleeping and being one of the last five students to board the train didn't fit the template of an ideal Head Boy. Maybe racing over the empty platform of 9 ¾ wasn't the smartest way to act next to a reverberating train. Offering stupid grimaces and sticking your tongue out to classmates or booming ''OUT OF THE WAY OR YOU'LL GET SQUISHED'' or almost tripping over someone's trunks or _almost_ tackling a crying student to the ground wasn't part of the Head Boy duties, but you have to remember than even though James Potter was now Head Boy, he was still a Marauder.

''You're buying us breakfast,'' Sirius hissed through his teeth, his toe stubbing yet another trunk as they wandered the train corridor. His stomach let out a growl as if to back up his statement.

They move further down the train.

Voices, boisterous, speak in hushed tones of the upcoming year. In one cabin, a boy has a girl pressed up against the dirty window-glass. They kiss the story of a summer apart, since they have nothing interesting to tell. In another cabin, first-years cling to their pre-school innocence.

''I'm _starving_.''

''Hang in there, Pads,'' James muttered, throwing a small levitation spell over a bag blocking their path before advancing at high velocity through the narrow hallway. He had tripped on at least three cases by now. The last car had been nearly clean of them, everyone having tucked them safely in overhead storage containers- this one, however, was a mine field of scuffed-knee, dented-shins, and disfigured-toe inspiring hazards.

"Your mum packed me an extra snack but I forgot it in the hallway."

Mrs Potter usually packed Sirius an extra snack, because unlike most boys his age, he still fell into the same tendencies as a 3 year old who got grumpy if they didn't get fed enough. And usually she wouldn't spoil the son of the wealthy House of Black, but sometimes, especially when it came to food, she allowed it.

"You can calm down, I got it, so whatever got you like this… all… moody, we made it here in time, didn't we?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, eyes down. "Yeah..."

The train was moving out of London, the city soon replaced with a night-black tunnel, light exploding into green and pink when the train rushed over a field of flowers, then green patches forests, sunlit spires of shimmer into view, redolent with promise… yellow and orange fields, blue sky with stretched clouds, dark lakes, picturesque villages and ruined abbeys resting on top of hills.

Eventually they found the compartment they had claimed dibs on their second year. James grabbed his Head Boy badge in a swoop, yelled out something nonsensical and disappeared down the hall to go to the prefect's compartment. Sirius slumped down in the seat by the window, tapping his shoulder where it had grown stiff and numb under stress.

He was glad to be on the move – officially moving as far away as he could from all that had happened during the summer. Not most of it had been bad, of course – in fact there had been several golden moments he'd all carefully placed in jars and pockets to save and cherish in his older years, but the end of summer had been a struggle.

Ever since Remus transformation, and St. Mungos, Sirius had been feeling antsy. It was the same feeling he'd had right before his mother had approached him, telling (or rather ordering him) how he was to follow in the footsteps of people he hated. It was the same feeling he'd had the night he'd ran away.

It was change, and like any reasonable wizard, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Hogwarts would be a good escape though. It always was. So for a moment, he let himself get carried away with the train, gently falling back in his seat as he listened to the familiar sounds leading him home.

The Hogwarts Express was an old train, by all rights a disaster waiting to happen, and only because the city wanted to placate its elder citizens that it wasn't scrapped for the junkyard already. As it is, Sirius liked it just fine, thank you very much. Regardless of its faded exterior, decrepit interior, and lack of emergency exits… it's was an alright train.

It rattles as it goes.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle –

And so on and so forth.

Somewhere along the way he must've fallen asleep, because he flitted back into consciousness an hour or so later. Looking outside the sun had danced across the sky and the forest was gone and replaced with forbidding cliffs and mountains hiding in the horizon. Sirius blinked, eyes adjusting at the harsh light. Lazy hands rubbed the sleep away. There was movement at the edge of his vision again, miscellaneous floaters, consolation prizes for actual sight in the light. He rubbed again, resting his head back against the wall behind him. Sitting opposite to him, the empty seat across from him was no longer empty, but occupied.

''You're up,'' Peter observed, lowering the Transfiguration book to his lap. ''I had to sit with Alfred Ledin from _Hufflepuff_ for _24 minutes_ and yesI counted,'' he added miserably, as if it was Sirius fault. Lacking any physically intimidating attributes, Peter masked a very complicated and dangerous anger.

Sirius stretched in his seat. A yawn pulled on his mouth and limbs, eyes squeezing shut before sighing in content.

''Could've been worse.'' Peter huffed. ''Could've been Gallagher, talking your head off about stars aligning and clouds falling,'' Sirius argued, taking a closer look at his friend that was now sitting nose-deep into his book. One curious eyebrow quirked up disbelievingly at sight of a cushy cashmere and a rib-knit texture vest fitted around Peter's round figure.

Oh.

This was new. The contemporary tailoring and the sumptuous fabric was definitely new. Sure, it looked like Peter had found inspiration from the 19th century, only a top hat and a cane missing to complete the outfit, but nevertheless, it was new.

''You look like my grandfather,'' Sirius sniggered.

Peter didn't miss a beat.

''Oh, is your grandpa super cool?''

Though he shouldn't have, Sirius was happy with Peter's sour answer and that the book was now snapped shut and put away. ''No, he's an filthy, affluent idiot,'' Sirius answered, leaning forward to catch all the details in the crisp shirt and the soft sweater and the slim (and perhaps too small) vest. Sure, Peter was one of the better dressed in the group – but this was different. Maybe even a little bit over top. ''Honestly though, who are you trying to impress? Alfred Ledin from Hufflepuff?''

Peter moved to stare out the window as he delivered his next line. ''Just because you're wearing the t-shirt you slept in doesn't mean _I_ have to.''

Sirius was just about to call out objections when the door to the compartment was opened. He turned around to tell whomever miserable first year it was to scat. Only it wasn't a first year. It was James Potter, re-joining his friends by casually leaning against sliding door with his head tilted.

'' _You-_ '' the Head Boy pointed his finger directly at Peter. ''-young man, need to explain yourself.''

''Wha-?'' Peter was just about to start campaigning for his clothes once again, but as it turns out, that wasn't what he was being accused of anymore.

''I just ran into... S-S-Suzy T-Taube on my way here,'' James imitated the girl's stutter with a goofy smile, eyes glistering with anticipation as Peter's hands started to dance over his book like a Juilliard pianist warming up. He'd hit a nerve. ''And she just shoved _this_ -'' A small transparent box filled with biscuits comes out from hiding behind his back. ''-into my chest and told me to say hi to P-P-P-Peter.''

Peter suddenly turned into a vivid red, cheeks burning and eyes wide. ''I… uh…'' Scratching the back of his head, he seemed to gulp down something as big as a golf ball. ''W-Who?'' he lied.

''That's a load of old crap. Who is she?''

''Oh we've hit the jackpot.'' An impatient (starving, mind you) Sirius quickly got up and swiftly stole the bundle of biscuits away from James. ''I mean who cares? Suzy is _great_ ,'' he breathed, eyes wide and filled with joy. Cuddling the box close to his heart, Sirius collapsed down into his seat again. ''I say 'eep 'ergh!'' he added, his mouth already filled with the sweet treat.

Marine, sceptical and tactful eyes watched him from the other side, debating whether Sirius was joking or not. In the end, Peter decided that it didn't matter.

''I might ask her out. I mean. I've been planning to…. I think uh… I've been t-thinking about it.''

''Guwd for yuh!'' A shower of biscuit crumbs flew out as Sirius spoke, his face twisted into a deep concentration as he weighed his next biscuit in his hand, chewing maliciously. ''While you're at it, make 'er do moh biscuits.''

Peter sighed and pulled up his book again, silently hoping they would give up the interrogation. Thankfully they did. Sirius made a pause in shoving biscuits into his mouth. The thick taste of burnt biscuits had finally caught up to him and it made him feel sick. Condensation was found in the window, his eyes fixated on the sky outside.

"How did the meeting go?"

James grinned. "Lily was amazing. She is. Really."

"Tell me something new, mate… Like how did you manage to loose Moony?''

''Dunno. He was at the prefects meeting. He took notes,'' James shrugged before digging up two packs of chocolate frogs from his pocket before throwing them, graciously soaring through the air. ''Breakfast.''

Sirius caught the pack with his left hand, quickly pocketing it. He didn't feel like eating.

Peter didn't catch his – the pack falling to the floor with a depressing _thunk_. Chubby fingers instantly dived down and started to rip the box open, the frog gone within minutes. For someone who's inner animal was a rat, Peter wasn't being very careful with his portion. He ate like a bear.

"Did he look okay?" Peter mumbled. This was a question that more than often bounced back and forth between the three animagi. Only now, as of lately, especially after the latest Mungo's incident and transformation, it was asked about every five minutes. "How's he holding up?"

A shrug. "He was quiet, then again, he was taking notes of what everyone said, so there wasn't really any time to let anything out… I think he's fine though. I mean, he will be." James gulped, and after some thought, he added; "But if he doesn't get in here within the next 10 minutes I think we should check."

"Sounds like a plan," Sirius nodded, adjusting the collar of his shirt, hand aimlessly trying to massage the knots in his shoulders.

While waiting for the last Marauder to arrive, Peter went back to his reading, Sirius stared at the sky and James started scribbling and sketching in a notepad, humming a soft tune while tracing abstract designs on a paper and adding the familiar initials to the top corner of the page. He usually started to hum after spending time around Lily.

 _BAM._

The peaceful moment passed, a very stressed Remus Lupin scrambling inside like he had just been chased by a flock of pixies. The door was quickly shut, drapes pulled down over the windows.

''I.. uh…''

James' jaw dropped to the ground by the sight of the prefect. He was shocked. Just 15 minutes ago Remus had been fine, the hair at least somewhat tamed and the face- well… not this _pink_.

''How do I look?'' Remus rasped through swollen lips.

''Good Godric.'' Peter scratched the back of his head. ''Honestly? You look like…''

''Like you put that lipstick on by _eating it_ ,'' Sirius grinned from ear to ear before the three Animagi burst out laughing until they couldn't breathe, wheezing out mispronounced words that was supposed to spell _Who did you try to eat this time?,_ tears starting to leak - eventually vaporizing into silent giggles.

''Brilliant work, but I'm sure Lily would love to give you a tutorial,'' James managed between his chuckles, his voice growing incredibly soft as he added a small smile. ''Her lipstick looks great.''

Peter turned to James. ''But Lily doesn't wear lipstick.''

''She did once. In fifth year.''

Sirius sighed. ' _'Guys_ , Moony here needs our words of wisdom. Focus.'' The laughter was gone, but the teasing atmosphere stayed, buzzing through the three boys. ''It looks like our friend has ditched the idea of celibacy.'' Sirius slammed his hands together in a loud clap before slowly rubbing them against each other like he usually did when planning an elaborate scheme. Together, James and Sirius leaned closer – elbows resting on their knees for leverage.

''Soo… Who's the lucky lady?''

James was pulling the biggest shit eating grin Remus had ever seen so far.

''No one.''

Remus felt like punching James when the smile only grew wider.

''Your clothes are ruined,'' Peter noted. Which was true. Most of his beige jumper had smudged marks from lips, the itchy fabric covered in polka dots shining in the same bright colour as grapefruits. ''Wouldn't recommend going to the Great Feast like this. You look like a Dalmatian…''

James raised a finger. "A _pink_ Dalmatian."

''No shit.''

''Hey, none of that!''

''Fuck you.''

''Daydreaming again, Moony?''

Remus huffed. Daydreaming was the last thing he was doing. Quite the opposite, really… Because as soon as he let his thoughts wander, they were always led back to the girl he had spent five days trying to wash away and forget. Unfortunately the wolf was just as stubborn as he was.

"How are you feeling? When did you have breakfast? Hold on, do you want a Suzy-biscuit?"

James didn't wait for an answer, only a second passing before he flung a biscuit straight at Remus. Quick reflexes made the werewolf jump, instantly distracted from his conflicted thoughts. He caught the biscuit just a few inches away from his face while Peter got hit square in the nose.

Getting things thrown at you was something every marauder had grown used to by now. Being friends with a Chaser usually did that. Because basically anything light enough to throw became a quaffle in James' eyes. In this case: biscuits.

''You don't want one?'' James frowned as Peter threw his back. With one quick glance to Sirius sitting next to him, he noticed how veiny hands and fingers now moulded over the box like bars in a prison. ''They'll be gone in a minute,'' he warned. ''You should take one. They're for you, after all.''

''No thanks. I will take one when Suzy stop putting raisings in things I would otherwise enjoy eating.''

Remus sniggered. ''You're being unraisinable,'' he smiled, earning a long _boo_ and a bewitched paper airplane attacking him.

Peter gasped, though Remus wasn't sure whether it was because of the terrible pun or because of the insult. Maybe both. Either way, Remus earned a slap to the back of his head, followed by a shove and very upset words roaring: ''Am _not_!''

With a small incarnation and a tap of his wand, James threw a new biscuit over to Peter. To his delight, this time the raisins were replaced with chocolate. He leaned over it like a prayer. _Neat_. Yum.

Remus inhaled his biscuits in record time, leaving him time to analyse the compartment. It didn't take long for him to connect dots, or connect blanks rather – seeing it as even after eating a full meal of biscuits and snacks supplied from Prongs – Sirius was still moping.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You're nervous," Remus concluded, letting theories stack up. "If you're worried about my polka dots, it's no one serious, and it's no one of importance to you, so you can stop chewing the inside of your cheek and you can stop staring out the window."

Sirius shook his head. "That's not it. I'm just… thinking."

"I already told you a hundred times! I'm alright, okay? I'm fine. So stop." Remus released a heavy breath. "I really don't need more people to worry about me. I hate it. You already know that."

"I know… sorry."

The remaining time spent in the compartment was loud and boisterous, mainly debating where they could get their hands on Bowtruckles and how to interpret them into a prank. Peter was eager to import some Streelers from Africa and set them free during a Quidditch game. The idea was quickly shot down by Sirius who argued that Bowtruckles was the obvious choice. After that Peter got quiet and grouchy, sinking into his seat as if hoping to melt into it. While Sirius prompted for one last game of Exploding Snap before arriving at the station, James decided to spend the last 30 minutes on cheering Peter up.

And that's why James was Helium.

''What are you on about, Casanova?''

Remus hadn't realized he'd said it out loud, but nevertheless, he shrugged like it was obvious. ''You're Helium.''

After spitting out a sardine Bertie Bott's, Sirius threw one over to hit Remus square in the face. Remus glared, and Sirius glared back because it _wasn't_ the most obvious fact. ''What are you talking about? And what the hell is a _Helium_?''

It was too late to backtrack – too late to take back the words he hadn't meant to slip in the first place, considering that it would take a lot of explaining on his part to make the three purebloods understand what he had been studying over the summer. They didn't know much about Muggle chemistry. Remus, however, did. Especially now after spending most of his summer researching the textbook Lily had loaned him.

It was a struggle explaining the periodic table to the three wizards, explaining how he had technically brainwashed himself in a method trying to memorize all the elements. It was a simple system; he just labelled all his friends and classmates as elements to reference back to. So far the technique had proved to be working. He went on explaining that Sirius was Neon and that Peter was Thallium. The list went on describing Caradoc Dearborn as Titanium because he was so strong and Rodolphus Lestrange as Uranium because he was perilous.

''This settles it, you're insane.''

Mary Macdonald was Silicon because she was brittle yet had a very cocky hard surface and Marlene McKinnon was Quicksilver because of her speed. Lily Evans was Strontium because her firework red hair and Dorcas Meadowes was Iodine because she always killed negative vibes whenever she entered the room.

''Honestly, get some _help_ ,'' Peter cried, reaching over to knock on Remus head as if expecting it to me made out of a coconut shell. Like he was hoping for hollow sound effects.

''And James. James is Helium.''

''Screw Helium. I don't want to be a _gas_!''

''What do you want be then?''

James paused, sinking back into his seat like a sulking child. ''I don't know. Something else.'' His lower lip was pouted, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to think of an element. He didn't know many. ''Oh. What about Iron?''

''Already taken.''

''Steel?''

''That's not a chemical element.''

''Oh come on. What do you mean I'm Helium? That my head looks like a balloon? That I have a high-pitched voice? … no. _You_ be Helium! Your mum can be Helium!'' James shrieked and both Sirius and Peter gasped at the outburst.

Remus just shook his head. ''No, _you_ are Helium because you always make everything... I don't know. Lighter.'' It was always James who effortlessly made everything seem easy. It was James who had spent whole summer between fifth and sixth year with constant patience and effort to convince Remus to re-join the group after the Prank because not only had he been furious at himself, but at everything.

James visibly relaxed. ''I get it. So Helium is good?''

''It's great,'' Remus assured with a nod, but apparently it wasn't enough of an answer.

''Is Helium cool?''

Remus hesitated. ''Cool?''

''Yeah, cool! Is it _cool_?''

''It's cooler than cool. It's ice-cool.''

''Sweet!'' James beamed, deeply satisfied. It was like being chosen by King Arthur, ruler of Albion, the once and future king, gifted with Excalibur, born of blood and magic. ''I'm Helium, Padfoot is Neon and Wormtail is.. T- _something_ -ium. And what are you?''

''Huh?''

''What element are you?''

''Me?''

''Yes! You! Come on, Moony, you have to have one too.''

''No. I… I don't have one.''

Sirius smiled so much his cheeks started to hurt. ''I swear you're Sand cause you're about as dry as a desert, or wait, no! You're Water cause you always start to cry when…''

''Unnilpentium,'' Remus interrupted, not bothering to mention that neither Sand nor Water was actual elements of the periodic table. ''Maybe.''

''What? Unnil…?''

''…pentium. Unnilpentium.''

''What's that?''

''It's a temporary name for a synthetic element. Atom number 105. Chemical symbol Unp.''

Sirius scoffed. ''Still think you're better as Sand.''

* * *

It only took seconds after the train's piercing screech for students to leak out of the narrow doors of the train, some of them not even waiting for the train to make a halt. They all jumped out onto the Hogsmeade station, packs of First years herded like cattle towards the end of the platform where the boats were docked along with the giant groundskeeper. Some gave the Black Lake dubious looks, the water looking like ink more than anything, to which prefects and older students taunted that going to the Forbidden Forest wasn't ideal either.

James Potter moved through all of the students determinedly, methodically, and unemotionally —like he doesn't even notice anyone else there. If it hadn't been for Peter walking beside him, naturally making people move aside, he would most definitely had tripped. He made it as far as to the carriages, his eyes skimming the clearing for the Hufflepuff prefect they had promised to share a carriage with.

That is until he suddenly felt a small hand wrap itself around his wrist, pulling him back. Or well… The hand was _trying_ to hold him back, the fail resulting in almost being dragged behind him instead. Thankfully, he stopped, making Peter do so as well. Turning around, the petite hand was presented with a tiny Gryffindor who was still short enough to be mistaken as a first year.

''Oh, hi Florence,'' James greeted her. ''Is something wrong? You alright?''

She didn't look very happy: distressed blue eyes ogling him like an owl, her hand trembling on her slightly twisted red tie and her breath ragged. Hiding behind her short spiked hair her overly large ears was starting to turn in a tint of pink. She was biting the edge of her fingernails.

''My cat is missing!''

''I'm sure that-''

''Your patch… I… You're the Head Boy, so… If anyone asks, can you please tell them that I've gone back to the train to look?''

James frowned, considering her words for a moment. Next to him, Peter rolled back on his heels, looking anywhere but at Florence. Usually Peter was good with little ones, but James could only assume his awkward posture and flushed face was a side-effect of the fact that Biscuit Suzy had just walked past them. He would've teased his friend about it, maybe he would've proposed a shared carriage, but both of them were already called dibs on.

Turning back his focus to Florence, James bit his lip as he shook his head no, and Florence visibly broke. ''No, you can't go there alone,'' he spoke as a matter of fact. When tears started to swell from her eyes, he hurried to add his solution. ''I'd love to escort you down though. Head duties call.''

"Really?''

With a light poke to Peter who was more than distracted looking for Suzy's silhouette disappearing amongst a sea of Hufflepuffs, James cleared his throat. "You coming mate? Mission update."

Peter was quick to shake his head. "I…I… No thanks. Sorry." Peter really didn't like cats. Never had really. Not since the incident of last summer. "Good luck on finding the thing though." And then, with a wave, he rush away before neither James or Florence could convince him to help.

"Thanks for helping, James."

''My pleasure, madam,'' he smiled. ''So. What's your cat called?'' he asked.

''Dingo.''

It wasn't a long way back to the station, but nevertheless, Florence seemed to appreciate his company. Especially when he lit his wand in a warm _Lumos_ to guide their way along the small poplars lining the curb. The street was deserted and wet, drying in splotches scattered around. Hogsmeade was shining around them.

''I can't wait for third year when I get to go on weekend trips here,'' Florence sighed happily. ''My sister used to work at Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop. They have the greatest peach tea.''

''They also have terrifying cupcakes with chocolate spiders on them. Last one crawled into my robe until it melted." He paused, enjoying the sound of Florence's full on giggling when he explained the inconvenient position of the stain.

Florence was in the middle of describing the kitten, hoping James would help her look- only to stop in mid-sentence when the Head Boy stiffened like a plank next to her. She didn't know what for. The station was empty and she hadn't even mentioned that Dingo was a scratcher sometimes. She watched in awe as the calm hazel eyes filled with fright. The intense, soulful hazel eyes captured her into some kind of shock, her eyes staring as his expression hardened. Then, before she could ask him what was happening, James swung around, his long feet striding over the platform. She called out his name, which was enough to break his weird trance.

"I'm just gonna go check on something, look for Dino, yeah?"

"Oh…Oh-kay."

With that, James set off after the figure he thought he'd just caught the glimpse of. The girl who he recognized from the duel with the Auror. The girl who Peter had deemed responsible for Remus' collapse, only to be shut down by Sirius who'd time after time told them to stop talking about her. Because according to Sirius, as long as they stayed away from her, so would she. Now, that wasn't the approach he would usually take, so James was fairly certain there had to be something else going on with the girl. There had to be a reason Sirius went blank and grumpy whenever Peter brought her up – or why he was acting all nervous whenever he'd been inside his own head alone with his thoughts for too long.

He called out for her to _wait, hold on_ , and when she stopped, so did he.

When she turned around, James didn't know whether to feel scared or not. Maybe he didn't notice, but he developed the same nervous fidgets Sirius had been sported the whole trip.

Her voice was soft. ''It's you.''

"I'm uh.. James."

She was watching him with curious eyes, clearly not expected him to find her. She looked so calm – a completely different person from the person he had held last time he saw her. She was steady, precise and very much alive. He didn't know how to react. It felt like he was meeting her for the first time.

She didn't seem to have the similar experience. Sure, she was looking at him very intently, as if checking every detail, every mole and dimple and messy curl, but she seemed so familiar with it already. It felt odd, and James shifted anxiously, hoping that she would say something soon.

"I'm Hermione."

Nerves get the best of him and his eyes shoot down his shoes. Feeling very self-aware of himself, James tilted his head up to watch her again. When he found her smiling everything felt stupid. He was being stupid. So stupid.

''I… uhm… hi. You… Uh… how are you?''

There was an infinitesimal pause, a smile, then, ''I'm okay. You?''

''Good! That's good. Good. Good! Super good,'' fervour words tumbled out like a waterfall. "I'm good as well, actually. Splendid. Well-fed, well-rested and all, so it's good."

Hearing himself repeat the word like a broken record, James mentally facepalmed. Then, taking a big load of air he manage to stop them from falling out, gathering his thoughts for a moment. He tried to recall any of the questions he had been stuck with ever since he last saw her. He was trying to sort out the biggest question mark he had about her. There were so many.

''At St. Mungo's… You talked to Sirius… just… What did you say to Sirius?'' he finally said. "People usually don't have this effect on him."

She smiled. "I asked him to trust me."

Knowing his best friend, his brother, better than anyone, that was a really bad way to start of with Sirius. Honestly, it was probably the worst. Then again, she was trying. And Sirius could be tough at first introductions.

And with Sirius, you had to earn the trust.

Looking at her, James suddenly realised that her presence wasn't something she was willing to offer him. She wasn't keeping the flow of questions and answer. She was waiting for the silence to conquer him and almost desperately he jumped at it. ''Are you here for Hogwarts? Or are you on the move?'' James knew that there was a little chance of the girl to be here for school, but then again, he'd heard Professor McGonagall get mentioned in the small debrief of Aurors. ''Hogwarts is great, you know. Safest place in the world.''

The girl stopped smiling.

''I don't know,'' she answered after some thought. ''They haven't told me anything yet.''

''They?''

''The people who's been looking after me. Aurors.'' she explained. ''They still don't know what to do with me.''

James carefully watched her, trying to find answers. If he played this right, he could find enough clues to piece together with whatever Sirius had found out. If they worked together, maybe the could find enough pieces to see the whole picture.

''What happened to you?''

She stilled, giving him a look like he already knew too much. Like he had already seen too much.

Like _he_ was the one withholding information from _her_. ''H.. James, I'm _fine_ ,'' she stressed, as though he had already asked a million times before and that she had already answered him this a million times before. ''I already told you I'm fine.'' The second time she said it he didn't believe her. The second time he couldn't decrypt her.

James frowned. ''Do you trust me?''

When she nodded she almost looked guilty about it.

''Then please tell me what is going on. Why is Sirius all quiet?''

She didn't give him the answer he was looking for. ''He's worried. About me.''

''Can I trust you?'' James asks. Or maybe it was a question if he should or not.

This time she smiled. ''I hope you do.'' Chocolate eyes fell down to her hands, slowly scratching knuckles. Then something changed. As if her own words just made her realize something. ''You need to get back to Hogwarts, or you'll miss the feast.''

Their time was running out. She was ending it.

"And where are you going?''

She swallows. "The Auror, Jiggers – you remember? He has a house here in Hogsmeade. He doesn't want me in London – I could go hide with Muggles and disappear,'' she nearly laughs, rolling her eyes at the idea. "I'm staying here until I'm cleared with all the documents and alibis."

James remembers. The gruff looking Auror was the last person he had expected to be her mentor. It didn't make any sense. He tried to tie and connect the girl and the Auror together, but it didn't seem to fit.

"Wasn't he the Auror who… I mean, it sounds like a strange choice, I think. Didn't he attack you…? Or vice versa?"

"It was a messy night."

"A wreck," James nodded in agreement, biting his lip anxiously. "For a second I was scared to follow you just now. Thought you'd might start another duel, and I'm really not up for that," he admitted. At least not a duel like the one she'd had with the Auror. Fuck that.

"I would never," Hermione shook her head. Her smile fading little by little before being replaced by a indifferent look. "Besides, they've stripped me from my wand… I'm pretty sure they've snapped it."

The Head Boy cringed. Before he could stop it he imagined the feel of his wand splitting, the way the end would spark, just once, and then fizz out. He imagined it would feel like something dying. Losing a part of yourself with it. He could understand that she was hurting. It was twisting on her lips and hiding in her eyes. He wanted to help her, console her, but he didn't move. He didn't get a chance to, either. Which probably was for the best.

''JAMES!'' a voice yelled, and Hermione's sad eyes turned wide. Turning around, the two of them found the tiny Florence cradling her orange cat to her chest, eyes filled with worry. ''We'll miss the feast!'' she squeaked. ''The carriages..!''

He didn't have much choice but to fall in defeat under the tiny girl's words. It was time to leave, and as he gave Hermione a slow nod, he felt how this wasn't the end of anything. This wasn't a closure - not at all. Nowhere close. And yet this meeting had been cut short. She gave him a polite nod, softly bidding him and Florence goodbye and to take care, watching as the two students moved away from the scene, maybe relived that the Head Boy hadn't had enough time to cause a scene.

On their way back, Florence asked who the girl was, and James repeated her name. He smirked as he did so – at least now he knew where she was hiding.

''Why do I get the feeling you'll go back if I don't force you onto the carriage?'' Florence muttered up at him, and James snickered because she sure as hell was right.

* * *

 **AN:** **WAKE UP, THE BEATLES ARE ON SPOTIFY AND LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!** **For those of you interested, I've got chapter five prepped, so yay. Mangoes for everyone ! ! !**


	5. five

**AN: oH SCREW IT LET'S HAVE TWO CHAPTERS IN 24 HOURS ! YES WHO'S WITH ME**

* * *

Every time he tried to slip into her mind he was thrown back.

Most of his time spent around Granger, a permanent frown was pulling on his squared features. At first glance you might've passed him for exhaustion or pure boredom, but once you noticed the small flick of his wand and firing the nonverbal spell you'd understand just why there were crinkles adding over 10 years to his age.

Time spent around the house worked like clockwork, a routine quickly built around meals, meetings and medical check-ups. Graham Jiggers hadn't been this bored since his sisters wedding back in 62, and that had only lasted for a night. This was worse. He'd spent days alongside Hermione Granger, and there was more to come and it was hell. With her eyes almost always locked down in a book, there was barely any time for talking or poking around her net of lies. There was no way of reaching her. Even during breakfast she would pull out a Muggle classic, not as much as offering a glance in the Auror's direction. By now he was used to her stubborn silence, eventually settling with reading the wizarding world's beguiling broadsheet of the Daily Prophet alongside his morning coffee.

Or at least pretending to.

Though no matter how hard he tried to reach into her mind and find her secrets hidden there he could never stretch himself far enough to reach. He tried everything, everything failing; his attempts of cracking her always falling apart the moment he got too close. Every attempt grew more and more drastic, now to the point where he was throwing silent spells at her.

Every time he tried to slip into her mind he was thrown back.

As it turned out, Granger was a highly skilled Occlumens, effortlessly repelling his every attempt at infiltrating her walls. She had so much control he didn't even have time to feel the usual disorienting rush of thoughts and memories once he silently casted the _Legilimens_. Every single time it was like she had drawn a white curtain around her brain. No amount of tearing could bring it down.

That didn't mean he didn't try, though.

Graham clenched his teeth until he could feel his jaw pop. A muscle twitched in his right cheek as he tried drawing the hundreds and thousands of meandering fingers all together, focusing them into something sharp and lethal enough to penetrate her wall. His hand turned into a squeezing fist around the table in front of him, increasing its grip until he was sure he felt pain. Then he threw the invisible dagger toward her, diving in as fast and hard as he could. And still, the moment he brushed up against that white sheet, it felt like she had reached over and slapped him across the face.

'' _Holy shit_ ,'' he hissed, jumping up from his crouched position.

Next to him, Granger stayed still as a statue like nothing had happened.

Graham stepped back, feeling abruptly ashamed. He shut his eyes for a moment and felt his crackling anger dissipate just enough to breathe. He slid his eyelids open and stared at the coffee cup in front of him. Embarrassed and filled with sudden loathing for himself, Graham felt his chest crumple when he saw her rubbing the space between her eyebrows. He felt queasy as he sensed her healing herself, sending energy through her palm into her own arm to erase the injury he'd caused her. He waited for a moment, and he blinked slowly as he whispered,

"Sorry."

The words felt strange in his mouth, for he did not often ask for forgiveness. For some reason, it did not help when she nodded her absolution toward him. It only made his guilt coil more tightly in his stomach, and he said with a measure of shame, ''I just want answers.''

She was good at hiding things from him – but as of lately, she'd gotten sloppier.

"You think I wouldn't notice you taking the Sleeping Draught and the Dreamless Sleep?" he went on, and as he said this, she stiffened. "You'll have to be better than that, kid."

"I only took small doses from each bottle, hardly enough for you to notice less than a millimetre missing from each, unless.." her voice drifted. Her insomnia had been hard to unravel, but once he had, the signs were bright. He'd noticed the half moons under her eyes, or how she'd kept trying to conjure a wandless _Silencio_ ever since they got to Hogsmeade. She wasn't sleeping. Couldn't. When she did, it was bad.

"Only few in this world have gone though enough shit to find themselves in the exact position you're mirroring, Granger. And I'm sorry, but you don't exactly fit the stereotype for PTSD victim. You're just a kid and I want to know the truth."

"The Healers at Mungo's used to help me with the _Silencio_ ," she muttered, no real answer, but at least she was talking. "It got worse when we got to Hogsmeade."

That settled one theory. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

"Bad memories."

Hermione Granger was a one of a kind case. She was unique in the sense that she didn't exist. There were no records, no documents, and no one who had come looking for her, no one who could explain. No traces, no clues. It was a miracle they even found her name so early in the process thanks to Albus Dumbledore and the magical artefacts locked up in the school. There, in the neat and precise writing of the Quill of Acceptance in the Book of Admittance, Hermione Granger's name had appeared just hours after they had found her.

Since they didn't find anyone responsible or connected to the girl, the Ministry had stepped in. What else were they supposed to do in times like this? From the moment she had showed up, bad things had been happening to the girl. Suspicious things, like witnesses had told Graham that one second she had been acting completely fine (slightly confused but nonetheless fine) - and then the next second she was stuck in an delirium.

Ever since there had been a lot of debates - everyone trying to decide what to do with the girl.

Graham took the initiative of stripping the witch from her wand - convinced she could do more harm than good with the 10¾" dragon heartstring once she would wake up from the sedatives. Simple precautions.

''I just need some answers,'' he repeated. "Why are you so scared?"

They had been going back and forth like this for three days now; he would try and sneak into her head and she would always be there waiting, greeting him with a force strong enough to knock him back into the pain of reality. Glaring at the girl, Graham could see she was still leaned over her book, although he was too muddled to notice how she hadn't turned the page for the last five minutes.

He cleared his throat before speaking. ''If you would just answer my questions I wouldn't have to keep trying to hack through.''

It was meant to sound like an order, a command or anything that would make her feel threatened enough to obey, but once the words came out they weren't nearly harsh enough to be considered hostile. He sounded weaker than he liked to admit. Dull. Like he'd already told her countless times before.

''And if you would just stop trying it wouldn't hurt so much,'' Hermione said.

The fact that it hurt both of them had slipped him by.

Graham's once monotonous and frowning demeanour slowly changed and his face consorted into something else entirely, eyes closing into slits. ''What are you hiding then?'' he asked slowly. One ankle is crossed over the opposite knee. He grips the ankle tight as he leans forward. ''Why won't you let us help you?'' He scanned over her tired posture and her sunken eyes.

''You're not _helping_ , okay? You're making everything worse.''

''Not deliberately. I'm just trying to _help_.''

''It's not that simple.''

''Nothing is simple,'' Graham exhaled, ''but if you let me help - if you let me in - we could work it through together. If a threat is coming our way, and you're scared, you shouldn't have to take that attack on your own. There are hundreds of Aurors like me who're trained for this, who-"

" _No one_ can be trained for this!" she hissed harshly. "No one and nothing can prepare you for this."

"But you're still just a kid… Tell me about the threat.''

''No.''

''No? Then what? You just go on all on your own?''

''It's _my_ battle, Jiggers,'' she insists, eyes burning. She's looking at him like he's trying to steal something from her. ''It's _my_ responsibility to fix everything – don't drag other people into my mess. You out of all people should understand that.''

He didn't know what she knew about him or how she could possible know, but nevertheless he couldn't argue with that. Falling into deep thought his eyes momentarily flitter before they fall back to the contents of his coffee cup securely melted between his palms. Both fell into exhaustion. He wasn't one to admit it, but he was tired. Hell- he probably looked worse than Granger, and she looked like shit. It's only when he's sure she's not watching that he let's himself look up again, now watching the cereal rain down into the baby-blue bowl.

''I'm not the enemy here, Granger.''

''Neither am I.''

Although her response was quick and showed no hesitation, her words meant nothing to him. They had no value. No sense of truth behind them.

''If you're not with us then you're with them.''

"I'm not an Death Eater, for gods sake, I'm a muggleborn."

"Armies are never fully pure or equal."

''It's more complicated than that though. You can't divide people into allies and enemies. There's more to the world than black and white,'' she argued, a hand brushing away some of her hair before turning her focus back to the soggy, now ruined, bowl of cereal. ''It's a collective battle.. I'm just trying to keep everyone safe. I can only do that alone.''

She was being ludicrous.

''You want us to leave you alone so that you can save… For the bigger picture... That's _exactly_ what you're doing, right? You're protecting people by keeping your mouth shut and locking yourself indoors? Great plan. Well done.''

''It's for the best...''

''No, it isn't. I never took you for an idiot, Granger. You're supposed to be smart. All you do is just sit there and stare into the wall thinking about…'' his voice tuned out, eyes narrowing. Before she could see it coming, he flickered his wand. " _Legilimens."_

For a second she was caught off guard. Somehow she lost her grip on the spoon, the silverware suddenly clinking down into the bowl in front of her. She barely noticed. The itching was back again, the tingling sensation of yet another attempt to peer inside her head. Usually he was trying to be careful and discreet, but this time it was quick and offensive.

Short glimpses: A church. A funeral. No- Several of them. The smell of oranges and a stream of lotus flowers. A girl with white blonde hair singing a soft tune, coloured glass reflecting in the sun, red hair, _lots_ of red hair, and a tall boy walking up to her and then there was rain and-

Closing her eyes, Hermione waited for the stir to stop. No matter how trained she could never escape the shrinking sensation over her body, always felt a freezing fingertip trailing down the length of her spine.

He never gave it a rest, just like she never gave him the satisfaction to win.

Graham winched as the oozing sensation was cut off with an unseen sting to his cheek. Sighing, he leaned back again. ''What _are_ you thinking about? … Is it really that bad?''

''You're actually going to _ask_ _me_ like a civilized person this time?'' she hissed, a trembling hand picking up the spoon again.

''I am just trying to understand.''

''Well, please stop. It doesn't have anything to do with you.''

Graham stared at the girl with a crunched up grimace. Hadn't he been biting his knuckle there surely would be more threats and protests seeping out. If everyone at the Ministry hadn't stopped him he would've shoved a full bottle of Veritaserum down her throat _days_ _ago_. Sure, it was a radical move, but it would be affective. Drowning her in the truth serum would extinguish this guarding shield she refused to let go. It would make her cough up truths before she could even take a breath.

Only problem was that it would get him shipped of straight to Azkaban if he as much as tried.

Suppose he could try it the Muggle way. Rumour has it they too had a colourless, odourless liquid that made people spill the truth. _Vodical_ , or something…

''Look, if you're worried about the attack-''

Hermione sees in Graham's face the look of the people she grew up with. The people who raised her. She senses the clinical point of view, as if watching her through a microscope, as if she's some kind of experiment. Like she is something that is about to explode. She hated it. It made her feel small.

But she didn't want to fight him anymore.

''That's not it,'' she shook her head equivocally. ''You know that's not it.''

''Well what is it then? What are you thinking about?'' he pressed. There wasn't much he could go on… unless… "You're thinking about _him_ , aren't you? The Head Boy?"

She looks up from where she's been watching pensively out of the window offering the view of the sprawl of green of Scotland. When she takes in the Auror's concerned dark eyes, processing his question, a small kind smile slips onto her lips and she eyes return to the view. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Graham probes, shifting his square chin into the palm of his hand as he sinks into the chair opposite her.

She glances back up at him again; her attention caught by the way his tight curls halo around his face. A small shrug moves her stiff shoulders.

"The last couple of days have been overwhelming, I'm not entirely sure where my head is at.''

Graham hums thoughtfully, knowing more than anyone that sometimes Granger could get so caught up in her own head. Most of the time he tried to access the memories she was wielding, but sometimes he would just sit and marvel.

"Do you think you'll be seeing him again?''

Arms cross over her chest. ''You're aware that your colleagues are keeping me held here, right?''

''Yes, but once it's over… Once you're cleared. Will you go see him?''

"Yes,'' she answers immediately, so full of certainty. And then a furrow appears between her brows and her fingers drag from her chin down her neck thoughtfully. "When it's all over… Hopefully," she adds after a beat, her brown whiskey eyes glancing over at him for just a second.

''It will be over soon,'' Graham assures her. ''They'll figure out what to do with you. I'll even vouch for it. It has to be, or I'll die from world-weariness.''

She huffs, because it's pretty clear he blame her for this symptom, then before she can change her mind, curiosity got the best of her. "Has… has the Head Boy been around again?" she asks; her eyes drifting towards the window again.

"James Potter? No, he hasn't," he says with a quick shake of his head. His hand goes to lock itself in the short tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck and he sighs, setting his spine against the back of the chair. Granger seems agitated by his body language, her stunned eyes snapping back to him once again, and Graham realise she doesn't believe him.

"He stopped coming?"

It sounds defensive and Graham lifts his perfectly shaped eyebrows in wonder. "Things change, Granger," he says carefully. ''It's a good thing. It's what you wanted, right? You didn't want him to-''

"I don't want anything to change," she snaps, her brow twisting. She bites her bottom lip, looking purposefully away from the Auror who always seemed to make things worse. ''Nothing is supposed to change. It _can't_.''

It was almost like they were talking about two completely different things, only that neither of them was too caught up to even notice.

"It's a little too late for that," Graham answers. He tilts his head to one side as he looks at her, and he can't help but feel like she's a little bit delusional. Perhaps she's spent too long stuck in the fictional world books; yeah, maybe that's it. ''Change is inevitable.''

"It doesn't have to be," she says quietly under her breath.

''It _does_ ,'' Graham argues with a hint of irritation. She didn't think about the big picture. There was no frontline to send warriors to. No battleground. ''The Dark Army is everywhere. They're not even surrounding us. They're _with_ us. The terminology of _us_ and _them_ is hardly even a thing anymore. The water is rising, Granger. You and I and everyone around us are drowning. Just yesterday was a pure-blood family murdered. People didn't even have to question why. They were marked as blood traitors before the report was even handed in. It's too late to stop it from growing. We _need_ change.''

Hermione stopped listening.

It's like she's five feet under water and Graham was sitting on a boat above the surface trying to talk to her. She's only able listen to the mere sound of his voice, somehow finding it almost therapeutic.

All concentration, or rather the lack off, makes Hermione stare down at the circulating coffee in front of her. Cream is pored into it... slowly, and clockwise - the cream spreads outward by the spiralling coffee until it looks like a twisting galaxy. She hadn't slept much, considering the cup seemed to pulsate with light. She could hear Graham mentioning something about Hogwarts, but she couldn't pinpoint what… Instead she imagines time going into reverse. She imagines the cream changing direction, goes anti-clockwise, the spiral once more returning to its original central dollop, and then vanishing.

''—you listening? Granger. Hey… _Granger_! ''

Hermione is met with a pair of eyes watching her closely again. ''You do that a lot,'' Graham stated. ''Are you okay?'' A warm hand Hermione hadn't even felt until now squeeze her shoulder, welcoming her back to the world of the awake. She curl inwards at his new proximity, now hunching over.

''I'm fine.''

''The meeting is about to start.''

''Meeting?''

" _Yes_."

"What meeting?"

''Technically it has already started,'' he corrected himself. ''But there were some final things to sort out before you could come.'' For a moment he actually looks concerned about her, still not releasing his hand from her shoulder. It's like suddenly he cared. ''You ready?''

 _No_.

He must've sensed her discomfort, because once the Head of the Department of Magical Education walked into the kitchen, stating that it was time to go, Graham stayed close.

''Everything will be fine,'' he whispered to her as Mrs Marrow lead them through a series of doors, _en fillade_ , until they arrive outside at a dimly candle-lit drawing room. ''You'll be fine.''

But it wasn't fine. It wasn't fine then, and it wasn't fine now.

Hermione doesn't get the chance to tell him this, Marrow ushering everyone inside.

Murals of cherubs cover the walls. There is a harpsichord in one corner and a loudly ticking grandfather clock in another. The room is crowded, a group of Officials standing in a closed formation muttering amongst themselves. Two look like they've just come from the Wizengamot chamber, another looking like they swam across the ocean to get here. There was two Hit Witches standing next to the dripping wet Official. Then there is one lady dressed in a lime-coloured outfit; the others in suits and formal wear. There were two orderlies standing in corner of the room, easy to summon but not so close they can overhear. Her professor, McGonagall, is standing over by the door, not engaging in the small discussion, but waiting.

Moving along a row of canaries in cages, Hermione is able to catch a glimpse of another recognizable face in the room.

Bartemius Crouch was there. He's slouching against the corner on the opposite side of the room in an attempt for distance, a hat pulled down far enough to cast a shadow over his face. It's almost silly to see a man of his height try to look small.

''Let's get started, shall we? Please, go ahead and take a seat, Miss Granger.''

There are faded couches, fraying armchairs, and coffee tables with new plastic tops. The carpets are threadbare and the lighting in each area is either too dim or too bright. Hermione picks the most simple, hard-looking chairs. Graham follows.

The meeting starts.

It starts off going after the protocol. Basic. Then it shifts. There's yelling and hushed whispering. There are people trying to supress or gain control. People pull, yank at ideas, thoughts, opinions, worries, doubts… And in the middle of it all, Hermione sits, trying to stay one step ahead, always wary of her choice of words.

The meeting ends.

It's Graham who ends it. Or rather interrupts it.

''Everyone, wait. Who is that?''

Everyone, the Healer, the orderlies, the professor, the Officials, the Aurors, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione, _everyone_ \- turn their head to the window.

It felt a lot like drowning. Her exterior just simply watches him as his dark eyes dart around the bustling warm room, soaking her in his profile like he hasn't been ingrained onto the backs of her eyelids ever since she watched him die. On the inside, though, she's floundering: arms and limbs lashing out to try and keep afloat and she thinks that maybe this is how everything ends and how idiotic she was to have never seen it coming.

 _Sirius_.

* * *

Both of them are standing in the doorframe of the front door, peeking out into the dead of night.

''Well, I'll have to admit, he wasn't the one I was expecting,'' Graham mumbles, although for once he doesn't sound that bothered. Instead, a rather amused smirk tries to battle against the permanent frown. ''How many of them are there?''

He almost sounds impressed.

Hermione ignores him, busy looking for Sirius, her fingers aimlessly starting to scratch at the edge of her jumper.

She used to scratch the skin lined along her nails as a child when she was nervous and they'd usually end up bleeding and it even got to the point where her father had taken to taping her fingers, once, twice, until the sharp slice of plastic made her hand throb, made touching her nails without wincing impossible. Now, facing the guy that made her more nervous than ever, her hands feel dry, rough. It was the same nervous hands that she'd painted red on her first date with her next door neighbour Oscar at the age of 13, blue on the second. She closes them, opens them and repeats until she feels as if she's doing something other than breaking her mask.

It doesn't take long to find him. Despite his attempt to stay hidden in the shadows she could easily trace his outlines out. His hair was a soft grown, flopping over his face and sweeping above his face, hiding any expression or feeling to be seen from distance. Without very much thought she takes a step outside, her orange socks meeting the cold, wet ground below.

''What is he doing here?'' she wonders, not really meant for anyone but her to hear.

''Not sure.''

Glancing back at the Auror she tries to determine what the best strategy. She had to choose her next words very carefully if she wanted any chance of Graham letting her go talk to the idiotic, not so very stealthy Animagi. He rarely let his sight off of her, and convincing him to let her talk to Sirius alone would be tricky. She could just make a run for it but that would case the minor problem of hiding both her and Sirius before Graham would find them.

''Just head back inside,'' she tries. ''I'll take care of this.''

He seems to consider this for a moment, eventually falling into a solemn nod. ''Make sure you do. You're not supposed to encourage to them.''

''I know.''

She doesn't have to repeat herself. Graham happily walks away from the scene, back inside and back to the meeting, probably to bid his goodbyes to his colleagues and acquaintances.

Sirius watch as she locks him in as her target, her feet moving furiously towards him.

He hadn't seen her like this before. Last time she was very tiny and… how to put it… delicate? Now she was the exact opposite. She was _fuming_ … For a second Sirius actually thought about leaving, but he stayed completely still, waiting.

Surprisingly, Sirius found them to be about the same height – something he hadn't been expecting. Typically he would use his tall figure to take control and tower the person he was trying to intimidate, but this time it wouldn't work since she was only a decimetre shorter.

She doesn't waste time. ''How much did you hear?'' she growls at him, like she's blaming him for everything bad in the world. Like everything wrong in the world was his fault. Honestly it's was quite a shock to see her like this. Last time she'd been a sobbing mess. Now she looked… well… mad.

''Not enough.''

'' _Sirius…_ ''

There it was again. The name. The name he had never given to her. The name he knew for sure she hadn't been introduced to by anyone close of his. It was a frightening thought, letting theories built up to how she knew his name. Bad people were associated with his name, his family. Was she one of them? Thoughts sprung into words.

''How do you know my name? How-''

She interrupted him. ''You need to leave.''

''No, I don't,'' he shakes his head. He'd been expecting this. From the very little Moony had told him about her, she was very good at de-railing conversations. Evidently, stealing wands, too. No way he was going to fall for that trick though.

''I'm not leaving until you tell me who you are and how you know me.''

She looked at him like he was talking another language. Perturbed. Perplexed. Like watching a movie with the pictures moving to fast. Like a strobe. Like he was a puzzle too hard to solve. Like _he_ was a piece that didn't fit in, when it was actually the other way around. Then something changed and she suddenly grew firm and focused again, a protective shell surrounding her.

Sirius watched in anger as she actually tried walking away from him. He grabs onto her arm like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline, too quick for her to escape into the streetlights.

''I have absolutely nothing to say to you,'' she said, pulling herself free.

''And yet I have so much to say to _you._ '' Sirius put both arms out to block her and nearly lost his balance while doing so. In a worthless attempt to escape she moved to ram her shoulder into him, but she might as well had telegraphed her plan, because he caught one of her arms in a second; twisting until her muscles screamed and her joints felt like they would pop. Her skin was hot, like she was trying to spread fire burning in her blood to his.

''I don't know who you are, where you're from or what you want, but you're not going to run away again. I won't let you. You'll answer my questions.''

She let out a small noise sounding like a whine. ''You can't ask that of me.''

''Well I'm not asking.''

For the first time she actually looked scared. He wasn't sure what had made her come to a sudden freeze. Maybe she had come to realization that there was always consequences and that he for sure wasn't kidding around right now. ''Sirius, please,'' she beseeches and he has to take a moment to blink a few times to bring himself back down to Earth.

 _Don't get distracted now, idiot. Stick with the program._

''I'll ask you again because it's important. What were you doing at Grimmauld Place?'' he snaps, because that's the most important thing. She tries to speak but he isn't done yet. " _Why_?'' He didn't even notice his grip around her wrist had tightened until she let out a small cry.

''I already told you at Mungo's. It wasn't planned … I was ... lost.''

''Then how come my brother talked to me for the first time in months just to ask why the hell you were trying to get inside?'' Sirius barked, his jaw clenched and his teeth gritted. ''What the hell were you doing?''

She tried to back away from him, but he only followed.

''My brother—my brother never … NEVER, talks to me… and then the one time he comes up and actually talks to me, it's about you, asking about you. He said you tried to go inside. Why? And I swear, if you so much as try one more lie I'll.. I'll…'' his voice was strained, pulled to a wobble that increased the more he spoke. Soon enough he couldn't make another sound without his throat screamed in agony. ''What were you doing there?'' he asks again, quieter this time.

She'd gone from confused to sheepish in seconds. It was all in her shoulders; they were no longer pushed back with confidence but instead dragged down by the weight of whatever embarrassment she felt.

''Stay away from him.''

Goosebumps waged war against naive skin.

They were both staring at each other, but not really looking. They had both fallen into a well of deep thoughts, waiting for the feeling of falling to stop.

A moment went by, during which they both remained silent, before that same moment turned into a full minute of unadulterated discomfort. Until, of course, Sirius snapped back into it; only then did things come to fruition.

"As much as I enjoy staring at you, are you going to say anything? Like, at all?" he asked with a sigh, one hand fumbling around with the wand resting in his pocket. He watched as she blinked furiously. It wasn't the loveliest of habits, and certainly not the most charming. ''I just need to know why you-''

''I wasn't thinking clearly when I got there,'' she confessed. His brows were then knitted together, creating a slight crease on his otherwise smooth skin. ''I thought of my friend and I went there. It was a mistake. I wasn't trying to scare anyone. I didn't even think Regulus-''

''How?'' Sirius broke her off with a barking, ''How do you know him?''

''What?''

''I never told you his name,'' he threw his hand out. ''So how do you know him? You've never met before, so how? What do you want from him?'' His question were armoured with protectiveness, because for moment he was actually worried. He didn't know what she was capable of. Then again, neither did she know what he could do.

''How much do you know about him?''

She stares at him like she's the one who's asked the question. When he stares right back at her she slowly takes a step away from him. As if that would guarantee her safety. As it would appear, she was incapable of formulating any words to answer him. So, she simply stood before him with wide, hesitant eyes as he awaited an answer.

''Nothing,'' she eventually whispered. ''I'm not going to talk to him ever again, I promise. All I am trying to do right now is staying out of your lives.''

Sirius crossed his arms. ''You're not doing a very good job,'' he muttered. ''You even talked to James. It's like you're on a fucking streak. Remus has been wierd, you know. He probably would've found you earlier if I hadn't sabotaged him.''

''You what?''

''Sabotaged might be the wrong word, but I stopped him from getting to know about you.''

''Why?''

Sirius hesitates. ''He's not really himself anymore. I'm just looking out for him,'' Sirius said, voice stretched. ''You're not what they say you are. You're not just some witch who got attacked. You're different.''

Either she wasn't listening, or she was stupid – because she didn't seem to take in any of his words. ''Remus isn't… What happened to him?'' she stressed. ''Is he alright?''

Lips pressed into a tight line, Sirius thought back at Moony for a moment. He wasn't any better than usual. He was his normal self, as expected, but at the same time there was something off-balance with the werewolf. He was trying to hide it, but it wasn't hard to notice. Remus usually tried to distract himself with work whenever he was having a hard time. For example, last two days he'd spent stuck in that Muggle chemistry book of his, researching Merlin knows what.

''He was fine without you. He'll be fine.''

Sirius swallowed down his doubts.

The girl wrapped her arms across her chest in an attempt to retain the slightest bit of confidence. She changed into a significantly cooler and at ease person when standing like that, though Sirius saw through her immediately. (She probably came to this conclusion judging by the way his smile turned into a frown within seconds.)

''You need to leave.''

He shakes his head. They had already been through this. ''Why, if I didn't know any better I'd think you weren't happy to see me.''

The look on her face twists in pain, as if he's just stabbed her.

When she speaks again she's on the verge on tears. ''It's not safe here.'' She probably didn't notice, but she gestured more to herself than the dark street or the house she was staying at. It made him raise one curious eyebrow at her.

''You mean _you're_ not safe?'' he questioned slowly. ''But they took your wand.'' In other words, she was useless. She couldn't attack him. Sure, she might punch him; she looked like a person who could throw a good punch, but he was positive his quick reflexes would save him in time.

''That's true,'' she said sombrely, her voice soft with caution. ''But there's more than magic in this world that hurt people, Black.''

He wasn't scared of her, and he was tempting to tell her just that – but something stopped him. There it was again. ''What did you just say?'' he asked, his grey eyes narrowing as he cast one quick glance to the street to see if anyone was approaching. No. They were still alone.

''What?''

''You changed it. You called me Sirius before. You changed it to Black.'' Once he said it her face twisted in confusion, only now catching up.

''I- No I didn't.''

A sour smile pulled on him, grim and bitter. ''Yes, you did.'' He crossed his arms. ''What did I say to change?''

She shook her head tiredly. ''Nothing. We don't know each other.'' Her voice was barely there, ghosting in the air after spoken. It was almost like he'd imagined them. ''You need to leave.''

''You still haven't told me who you are or what you're doing here.''

''I'm need to go home. That's all I care about right now.''

''Why don't you then? Go home.''

She looks at him, deciding what to say. ''Because they won't let me. They want to keep an eye on me.''

She seemed highly disturbed by this, and honestly, Sirius was too. He needed her to get the hell away from Regulus and well—everyone. There was already enough to worry about. He didn't need one more thing to keep his eye on.

After some thought, Sirius finally speaks. ''Once the Ministry is done with you, will you leave?''

''That's the plan.''

He watch how the girl's fingers let go of the shirt, brushing gently against her opposite forearm, then out over the fingertips. It's looks like an attempt to re-create the sensation of someone else's touch – but by the furrowed brow and the crunched up nose, Sirius figures it wasn't giving the right effect.

Something, someone, was missing.

It made him realize something. ''Where is your family?'' he asked. He hadn't seen anyone at St. Mungo's. He was pretty sure he and the lads had been her only visitors, with the exception of the Auror and the lady from the Ministry, that is. ''Why aren't they here?''

''They don't remember me.''

The answer came so quickly, it made both of them freeze, the girl only realizing a second too late what she had just said. Wide eyes stared up at him, suddenly very scared. Like she hadn't expected a truth to come out.

''What? What do you mean they don't remember you? ... They're old? Gone senile?'' Sirius distinctly remembered Lily telling him about some other Muggle diagnosis, but he couldn't seem to remember the name. Altzimmers or something...

''No.'' She shook her head. ''I erased myself from their memories,'' she whispers.

" _What_?''

"Yes."

"You did? Really?"

This settles is. She was insane. No, worse than that.

Shocked, and now very, very uncomfortable, Sirius grows very self-conscious of his wand, no longer resting in his pocket, but firmly grasped and ready to be drawn at any second. He knew the false memory charm was very advanced, complex magic. He'd written a dissertation about it. The mind isn't meant to be tampered with – even a little detail could drive you down into a pit of madness.

If this girl was serious, which she looked to be, she was holding a lot more skill than he'd anticipated. Thoughts tried to scramble together one logical reason to why she would reveal this to him. In the end he only came up with one explanation.

''You're going to do that to me?'' he asked. ''Obliviate me?''

He didn't know what it felt like getting memories altered, but from what he'd read, it wouldn't hurt. The process was described to be painless and soft, the only symptom described being sunspots and slight dizziness.

''No, I'm not going to do that to you.''

''Why?''

''Because I'm going to need your help,'' she said. ''I'll need your help once I get sent to Hogwarts.''

* * *

 **AN: *Adele's vocie* Hello.**

 **So.. Everyone still hanging in there? I dedicate this chapter to nights spent wrapped like a burrito and listening to 80's music. OH - AND** ** _PLEASE_** **ASK QUESTIONS. I AM HERE TO ANSWER THEM.**


	6. six

***Pops out of your air vent***

 **Hey, hi, how are you, don't mind me, I know that I should be working at the upcoming chapters already, but before I do, I wanted to take time to tell you to guide you to reading this story. Now, to be honest, I usually never read these author notes myself, but hopefully one or two of you will.**

 ***Plops down into the nearest seat***

 **Keeping it short, you should probably go back to chapter one. This whole story has been edited since the hiatus. For your own sake. Also, thank you so much for coming back to this story. All the love.**

 ***Parkour my way out***

* * *

Ministry of Magic hadn't changed much, other than the people crowding it. First of all, there was a lot more people, all of them rushing over the splendid hall with highly polished, dark wood floor. The familiar peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that looked newly polished, continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

She would apply to take her NEWTS, (re)claim a wand and hopefully be considered a reliability rather than an enemy, and all four times Jiggers had went over this plan, he'd always mentioned how this was out of protocol. Any other time the Ministry wouldn't interfere and take responsibility, but seeing it as she had survived a duel against a skilled Auror, they didn't overlook it.

Silently watching the man giving the final touches to his outfit and slightly greying hair, Hermione felt herself frowning. A nervous tick of scratching his stubble was in motion – a stubble he'd chosen not to shave for this occasion – and the blue eyes were darting all over the room as he probably triple checked this whole plan for error and mistakes, risks in general.

Hermione always marked exits.

She collected them. She was so deft at her catalogue that she could speculate the likeliest fight based on the number and position of each in a handful of seconds, and she was usually right. It gave her a plan, settled the jittery instinct etched on the back of her skull. You never knew when you were going to have to make a break for it, and it was better to be prepared.

Harry once told her, "When the time comes, you _run_."

That time had never decided to come, and the trio had stayed together, more or less, the whole war period, not once separating because in the end, that's what would've made them weak. Still, every day, they prepared themselves. Various attempts had been pushed onto them, trying to split them up, single them out. And no matter how many times she'd caught Harry having second thoughts, considering to leave them alone and deal with the horocruxes on his own, it wasn't his burden to carry alone. And every time, she and Ron had been there to remind him of this.

Hermione had never thought she would be the one to be separated.

And yet here she was, alone, without her boys to back her up, and she felt incredibly willing to run. Run away from all problems, run away from ghosts who didn't know her, run away from family, run away from everything.

But she couldn't. And so, she stayed.

Jiggers tugged rather harshly on her long coat, pulling her along as they stumbled forwards. It was like a jet stream, a flow of people all going in the same direction, like a wildebeest stampede.

The Auror didn't seem to take much notice of the crowd, relaxed enough to continue on with a light conversation. "Okay so I've tried everything and I have to ask just one more thing," Graham slowly draws on his words as they swoop around the gigantic statue in the middle of the Atrium, while irritated drifters around them cascade grumbles around them.

"Mhm?"

"Are you a Russian spy?" He pause and waits for her to interrupt, but when he doesn't, he elaborates. "And I know you don't look or act russian, in any way shape or form, but according to information I've gathered, they - _you_? – are not allowed to say a single word in Russian while undercover."

Through a smirk, Hermione does her best impression of a Russian accent. "Someone has been reading much spy novels, _comrade_."

"So what? They're exciting."

Hermione felt the blooming of a laughter starting to rise.

"I'm not an undercover spy, you dimwit."

Action novels about heroes and spies and saving the world had always been Ron's thing, never Hermione's. Even though Ron didn't read as often as she did, and it's arguable that no one did, but the few times she'd caught him with a book of his own choice, it had been one of those she was teasing Jiggers about.

Not that Jiggers and Ron were anything alike.

Still, Hermione found herself saying a similar thing she often had said to Ron over the years.

"I'll make you a list of _good_ books," she mumbled, only catching herself in realization after speaking. All that was missing were Ron rolling his eyes at her, answering that he was perfectly fine with his own books thank you very much and that she could go wave her list of book superiority at people who cared.

Jiggers didn't say that though. "Please, one ridiculous problem at a time." Tired eyes give a hint of a smile. "Start worrying about book genres once you're no longer filed under the Potential Threat category at the office."

* * *

Sirius felt like laughing.

While it was completely off the map that a prefect, let alone _The_ Head Boy would find themselves in detention, it was completely out of this universe that they actually looked sad about it. Because the moment Peter and Sirius were shipped off from transfiguring a slimy Slytherin's hair from night black to barfing green, Moony and Prongs had almost looked sad they hadn't thought of it.

Because quite honestly, anything was better than being stuck at this tedious lecture Professor Binns was giving.

Smirking, Sirius even offered the two marauders that remained seated a quick bow before rushing after Peter to get the hell out of the most boring class of all year. Once the tall door closed shut behind them they calmly made their way high up up up the stairs to Argus Filch office.

Somewhere during the past few days, the topic of the schools dreadful caretaker had been brought up to life during one of the Marauder's nights up scheming. See, this was their last year at Hogwarts and therefore their final year pestering the rheumatic man.

The final act wasn't something they could plan in one setting though. It had to be done with extreme care and precision to the very last second. So far they were still in phase one, most commonly known as they brainstorming phase; the days of looking for ideas, brewing creativity boosting potions and all the while playing nice to the enemy.

It would be the payback of the century. A revenge after all the littlest infractions and write-ups. According to McGonagall, he had somehow already managed to fill at least one thousand and fifty-six boxes with punishment records.

Even as much as a button unbuttoned or a sock on the wrong foot and Filch filed if off as Uniform Violation

So yeah, he deserved this.

"Remember to keep cool," Sirius panted once they finally reached the floor of Filch's office. "We're mature and it's all water under the bridge."

"Right."

A few seconds later a horrible, pouchy and pasty face and bulging, pale eyes stared at them along with sunken, veined cheeks, lips quavering for words but finding none. The man was already so scrunched up with his hunched shoulders, but add the suspicious glare and he pretty much as resembling to a molding apple as humanly possible.

"We're here for the detention, sir."

Peter had never in his whole life given the man the settlement of calling him sir, let alone smiled at him, but once he did – there was a cough and a close to piercing crackle of shock. Then, before Filch could add, the words climbed their way past the brown tailcoat, past the wall consisting disgusting scents of sweat and mothballs, straight into the cold tiny heart belonging to one Argus Filch.

It was the first time Filch had smiled at two students in 5 years.

"Detention, eh?" The smile turned into a grin. " _Perfect_."

Sadistic as ever, the wheezing and shuffling caretaker started to lead them to their punishment. They didn't get what they expected though. There was no polishing the school's many ornate candelabra, or scrubbing every inch of the boys laboratory. It was worse. Because surely pickling rats' brains in the dungeons was a thing Filch had added to his list.

"I damn hope it will be worth it, Padfoot," Peter grumbled.

Sirius bit his lip. "So.. Yeah, I have to admit this wasn't the plan I had in mind, _but_ … well, at least he's getting creative. Haven't heard of a detention taking this trip before."

"Because it's nuts up, that's why!"

"Don't take it personally. And it's _still_ better than Binns. Besides, we're going to have to go back to Filch when we're done, in other words, we'll get a chance to plug one of our wards to his office."

Still highly doubtful, Peter kept the word of Revenge play on a repeat at the back of his head all while taking deep and methodical huffs of air. Not so often though – the stench surrounding the dungeons were close to acidic and he was fairly certain if he breathed more than necessary all of his brain cells would be gone by the time they were done.

They were about halfway through when they heard whistling. When it finally reached them, Sirius and Peter had dragged themselves up from the green spattered floor, brushing off their dirty trousers from dirt with no prevail. And now they were face to face with Philip Avery, his school and robe nearly blending in with the green moss and dark shadows climbing the walls.

The whistling had stopped the moment they laid eyes on one another.

A beat, then, "You're not allowed down here," Avery hissed.

Peter frowned at the Slytherin. It was the first time since last term that he'd last seen Avery. Usually very proper in everything he did; everything from polished shoes to pressed fold on his trousers to the perfect tie to every single strand of hair slicked back against the curve of his skull. But this time, despite the light in the dungeons playing tricks with depth and shadows, Avery looked out of balance. No symmetry or perfection any longer.

In fact, the way he was carrying himself looked rather askance and awkward.

While Peter didn't have the guts to say so, Sirius surely did. "You look like shit."

Gritting his teeth, Avery took a step forward, only proving Peter's suspicions because it was about as close to a limp as it could get. "Get out of here," the Slytherin repeated, words cold and eyes deadly, but showing no effect on the two intruders.

What on earth had Avery done to be in need of a bloody cane?

"What happened to you to get you impersonating Filch?" Sirius close to smiled, voice haunting with glee. "You should really get that checked with a Healer. Madam Pomfrey surely has some foul-tasting potion for whatever it is you have."

Avery huffed. "Pomfrey doesn't know _anything_ ," he answered, and Peter almost felt like punching Avery to the ground right there and there because how dare he. If Pomfrey hadn't worked through miracles every time a full moon had been more cruel than usual, Remus would most surely be dead by now.

Never minding the two glaring Gryffindor, Avery went on without a single care in the world, indifference filling his sleek voice.

"Got most of my treatment at St. Mungo's, but even then my father ordered in a Healer from Spain to come to treat... treat my injury."

"And what injury is that exactly?"

"It's time for you to leave, Gryffindor."

Beside him, Peter was reaching for his wand. With one quick hand gesture, Peter was told to stand down. Then, offering his most bitter smile yet, Sirius nodded over to Avery.

"Glady."

* * *

There were no exits.

At least no real ones. No ideal flight. No exit she could take without getting caught or having to confront someone, and sure, even though her name was close to cleared, sending off warning lights were something she probably still should avoid, so Hermione kept still, staring at the moving pictures scattered around the office.

At the moment they were gossiping about how the Head of the Department might be cheating on her husband and that there were more than enough hidden letters to prove this theory.

Hermione doubted Mrs. Marrow, owner of the office, was cheating on her husband. If Hermione recalled correctly, Marrow had been an ally to the Order of the Phoenix, and all secrecy was probably revolving about the resistance against the Dark.

Scanning the room, Hermione started counting roses on the tapestry, trying not to think of just how long she would make it through the floo-system until Jiggers would track her down and bring her back in.

Thing was, she really didn't want to stay. Not considering who she was waiting for.

They had taken her to talk to Dumbledore, much to her disapproval and furious arguments why that really wasn't necessary. She had repeatedly told them that there was no need for such formalities as introductions and small chit chat, but Marrow had insisted, and Jiggers hadn't had a single care in the world, only muttering some excuse about a lunch break before disappearing.

Anxious didn't even begin to describe Hermione as she waited.

She was well aware of the old wizards skill of Legilimens, and although she did master her Occlumency in her sleep, there was a pestering fact that kept her scared. In this time and place, Albus Dumblefore was still in possession of the Elder Wand, and while the Headmaster had never used it on Hermione personally, Voldermort had.

Maybe it was due to the hours of torment that had lasted before the infiltration of her mind, but the Elder Wand had toiled her walls down without much to any fight at all.

Hermione forced herself from keeping the tears at bay. _"Whenever you think of that night, you come to me or Ron, okay?"_ Harry's words echoed. _"Because we'll rebuild together, okay? Promise we keep together,"_ Except only now it was impossible for her to keep that promise she'd made.

No matter what she did, she would, _could_ , never reach them.

The Ministry of Magic offered more than enough empty offices and unoccupied rooms for the two of them to meet. It was only after Mrs. Marrow had signed the final document applying for Hermione's NEWT'S to be taken that Hermione had been told to sit and wait until the Headmaster of Hogwarts would make a visit. And although the nerves of meeting yet another dead man was building up in her chest, Hermione still felt a relief that they hadn't asked her to visit the school itself, too many memories buried with death connected with its long majestic halls.

"You must excuse my absence in all of this, but I have no doubt Professor McGonagall has been kind to you," he opens after shaking Hermione's hand upon entering. He'd arrived through the floo-network, rather than the door, which Hermione had been faced and prepared for. His arrival had nearly made her have an heart attack, but his warm smile kept her steady. "She tells me you're one of the bright ones."

He stood taller in this time era, his posture not as worn out as she was used to.

Dressed in all light blue, the Headmaster looked as innocent and unthreatening as a man could look. The only wrinkles on his skin were from smiling, crinkles by his eyes and mouth, and although the freckles weren't as many, they were still there, almost as vibrant in colour as his auburn hair.

Hermione knew his façade wasn't real, and she reminded herself of this as their eyes locked.

When she came face to face with Dumbledore, it felt as if he saw straight through her. It seemed the Elder Wand was no match to her psyche, no matter how many hours she had trained and prepared to be safe and locked away. Her heart nearly sank because what Dumblefore would see would ruin everything, and all those hours she'd fought against Jiggers would've all been in vein. Because Dumbledore could see through her walls despite everything and he would see the future set out for the school he was vowed to protect. He would see the deaths and the betrayal of so many. The cruelty of children he'd helped raise.

But his words told her differently.

"Last time I got an update from Jiggers he was still complaining about your Occlumens, and it _does_ make me wonder.. who taught you?"

Hermione had to stop herself from gasping, only coming so far as stopping any sound from escaping her now parted lips. Then, after some thought, thinking back at the many hours she'd spent throwing frustrated words at Cedric because _It's not working what am I doing wrong?!_ Cedric had been a rock through all of it, patiently telling her to keep visualizing it.

Instead of answering, she derails. "I had the feeling you could see right through me."

"It doesn't take legilimency to see pain, Miss Granger."

She shook her head. "I'm not in pain."

"But you're in grief," Dumbledore mumbled, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Not many can tell the two apart. Looks like we've both witnessed someone leaving us." He was speaking of his sister. Of His brother, too, in some way. Maybe even Grinderwald, but Hermione couldn't know for sure.

After spending so much time around Aberforth, after shoving so much blame at her old Headmaster, Hermione found herself flustered. Dumbledore had chosen to confront risk everything, lives, for control – and although that might sound naïve, Hermione felt it to her core. Because she couldn't stop thinking about little Colin. Colin who had been innocent.

That's what Dumbledore did. He scarified – for the greater good – but was there such a thing? Hermione doubted it. And before Hermione could stop herself, words tumbled out to correct him.

"They didn't chose to _leave_ , they were wiped out, forced to leave and they never chose to… They never… I… Never chose to leave…" Hermione tore her eyes away from the old man, biting her lower lip in an attempt to shut up.

She could hear Dumbledore leaning back in Mrs Marrow's navy blue chair, the velvet fabric creaking and the wood scraping against the solid marble floor. Somewhere in the office, a mobile of the solar system were clinking as its metal globes revolved around the brightly charmed sun.

"It's a terrible truth. Whatever we cherish, we shall lose, and there's simply nothing we can do about it. This may sound profoundly depressing at first, but it's not. It's simply the truth. It's what we all know already but don't always want to examine. It's reality. You have to accept it."

Gulping, Hermione looked anywhere but at the man opposite to her. "You're here to tell me about the quill and the book?" she asked, fingers tapping against her lap nervously.

"Ah yes," he chuckled. "First and foremost, I must express my deepest apologize for not taking note of your name until now. Hogwarts always offers education to those chosen, no exceptions unless the student alone chose so. And although I don't doubt your knowledge and education, I must ask if you chose this or regret this in any fashion."

Hermione frowned. "The plan was and still isn't on me enrolling."

"Yes, both Mr. Jiggers and Mrs. Marrow told me, but as the quill and book claim, you always have a belonging to the castle and the magic within it. My question, to put it more lightly, is whether you want to obtain it or not."

"I'm applying for the NEWT's and then I'm out."

The man sat puzzled for a while, silently trying to peak inside the girl's head again. It didn't work this time either. "I apologize for asking this, Miss Granger, but have I done anything to upset you? I am trying to be as welcoming as possible."

"It's nothing you've done, sir," Hermione rushes. "I'm just stressed."

"Of course," he hums, though he doesn't sound so convinced. His free hand, the one he isn't hiding under the desk with a poised lock on the second Deathly Hollow, rise to adjust his glasses to force them up the bridge of his nose. "Although you won't enroll, I'm afraid you'll have to be sorted."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure how familiar you are with our school, but there are no such things as private quarters for students, even if they're only there for a short period of time."

Hermione's jaw clenched. She hadn't thought of that. Of course she had to go through a sorting, and although she'd done most of the research on the hat during her school years, she still wasn't sure whether she could manipulate it. The eleven-year-old Hermione hadn't been a hat stall, the hat more than certain she was a Gryffindor in her heart, but her heart had been broken. Would that change things?

Somewhere during her worry, Dumbledore had stood up. "You don't have to worry," he assured her. "No one in history has been left without a house to welcome them."

"That's not it," Hermione mumbled. "I'm just thinking back at… what someone once told me when I was little. They told me who I was and what I could become if I give it my everything."

Dumbledore smiled. "Forget the past. Stop explaining who you are. Invent the present," he paused, shrugging. "See it as an opportunity to be born again."

"Not sure I'll take that offer," Hermione smiled. "I know who I am. I just have to find a way back."

"Then I wish you a good luck, Miss Granger."

Though Hermione rarely felt embarrassed for asking for help or guidance, this time, no matter how much luck and help she was going to need, she didn't say a word. Staying as far away from Dumbledore would be the safe bet. Although, knowing the wizard, he wouldn't make it easy. He was awfully stubborn.

"I'll send for your friends to come get you if you'd like," Dumbledore went on, slowly moving over to shake her hand a farewell. After shaking her hand, just on the edge of pressing to hard to the point of pain, Dumbledore flicked a finger and a silvery phoenix swept up and through the nearest wall. "They're old students of mine, see. They will help you get fitted with everything you need and have to know. I expect you to be ready to be sorted later today. Good luck."

"…Friends? What friends I…"

In perfect etiquette of Albus Dumbledore, the wizard left without giving her an answer. He just smiled through twinkling eyes, giving her one final nod before strolling towards the fireplace, soon enough disappearing into green fire.

The patronus must've flown quickly, either that or her next visitors must've camped outside the door, because soon enough the door to the office slammed open and Hermione found herself face to face with two wild aurors, eyes wide and smiles bright.

"Hello!"

Frank's long legs carried him inside the office. There was no Hawaiian shirt this time, but rather the dark robes of an Auror, scorch marks at the hem slipping to the floor. He had his hand placed out in front of him like it had frozen in position, until he finally grabbed only Hermione's and shook it intensely.

"Wonderful to see you again, Hermione."

Alice, who skated up behind Frank to take a place beside him gave the same treatment. Her clothes weren't as dirty and covered in debris from whatever mission they had just been on, but her face was still red and her lungs were still trying to calm down. "We're going to take care of you, Hermione."

"Because if _Jiggers_ , top two in the most untrusting wizards we know, trusts you, you're game," Frank explains. "Speaking of, Jiggers will probably have our asses handed to us if we don't get moving. We're supposed to get a lot of things done before he's done at the Vault of Magical Identification Documents, making you legal and all that."

Hermione smiled. Had Frank just mentioned an exit?

Turns out he had. One dusty floo later, Alice, Frank and Hermione found themselves in the middle of a cobblestone street rather different compared to the most common streets of London. Here there were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Hermione could only guess were the 70's version of objects from her own time, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon. It was entering the rush of the gulf stream, colours blurring as Alice pulled Hermione quicker than necessary through the glittering displays of spellbooks, all while Frank offered various trivia about the location.

"… where you find artisanal potion ingredients, fresh herbs and tools, as well as their resident French bulldog, Jean-Pierre, or as they call him, The Chief."

The first stop was a quick in and out to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where they got all necessaries. While Alice and Hermione were more than happy to get out of there as soon as all school robes were purchased, Frank held them back, enthuastic to show them his discovery of well-priced garments that didn't fit any of the girls' styles at all.

"No, no, they're for me," Frank clarified as he held the two hats up. And although the meticulously-curated boutique showcased pieces for the closets from highly-acclaimed tailors and brands, Frank wasn't one of them.

"Don't take yourself so seriously, Frank."

"But…"

"You're _not_ getting a Trillby, and you know Porkpie's are Josh's thing!"

With a defeated _fine_ muttered, they were on the move again. There were several stores Hermione didn't recognize, some looking like a paradise of inkwells and feathers, some looking like a nightmare. One store made her take a double take though – the front completely different from her own experience.

Last time she'd seen it, the windows were blown out, scorch marks licking the entire building while Ministry of Magic posters had acted as wallpaper over holes and marks, propaganda screaming at bystanders and people passing by.

This time, there was a bright blue awning and crates abundant with blood oranges, umbrellas and other various accessories to bring along in the suitcase to one of the many trips offered by the Horror Tours agency, far far away from the gloomiest and gloomiest UK weekend. Hermione had never visited, and in her day, it hadn't been very popular. This time, however, there were even as much a small cue to the door, all patiently waiting to book their Portkey to the Zombie Trail in the tropical Haiti sun, or the refreshing storms from the Bermuda Triangle.

Noticing Hermione's attention, Alice shook her head.

"Wouldn't recommend. My cousin booked a honeymoon to a vampire-owned castle in Transylvania and she was stuck there for the entire season."

"I _still_ think the zombie-hunt sounds exciting though," Frank offered through a blush.

Cauldron, three vials, one telescope and one brass scale later, after nearly an hour spent walking the maze of books inside Flourish & Bott's while Alice spent the majority of the time trying to convince Hermione to get herself a broom, they ended up taking a pit-stop to rest their legs.

"Mum? Dad?" Alice called out as they entered the ice cream palour.

There was a homey charm to Florean's small shop, even more so accompanied by one. When walking inside, Hermione felt as if going over to one of her friend's or favourite aunt's house. Mismatched furniture that had been collected over the time, a soft light that eased the cavernous space with warmth and the intoxicating smell of freshly bakes cones, waffles and pastries greeting her almost made her feel home again.

There were as much as five exits to the parlour, and yet, Hermione didn't even stop to check which one was the better one. There was no need. Sunshine held her locked to the store, where she for the first time in a very long time felt like everything was going to be okay.

Alice fit perfectly in the warmth, and Frank did too, but for some reason he kept adjusting, hands somehow eternally stuck to his hair, a blush blooming on his cheekbones.

"Alice? Is that you? Is Frank with you? Ah! Frank my boy! Before I forget, you left your muggle… _thing?_ last time." The lady at the desk ran out back only to get a plastic bag filled with old cassettes, a confused smile pulling on the lady's lips as she handed it over to a now tomato-red Frank. Hermione recognized the diagnosis Frank was displaying, much from how Harry had acted around Molly and Arthur after going official with Ginny. "So happy to see you out of work for once, dears," the lady went on, patting Alice's cheek. "You Aurors always run around, busy busy. When do you ever get to rest?"

"Technically we're still on a mission, this one just happens to include ice-cream," Alice smiled.

Maybe Hermione hadn't fully appreciated the ice cream parlour back in her own time, but this time, it was like eating fireworks all while her taste buds decided it was carnival night. The two Aurors opted for the seasonal choice of berry flavour – in various iterations – and from the moment Hermione got her sundae, she promised herself to always respect Frank and Alice's recommendations.

She might even get one of those Hawaiian shirts Frank went on about, but that was for another time.

"We have one final stop before we meet up with Jiggers at Grindgotts."

"Oh?"

Frank, who had cooled down from his redness to a soft pink, nodded. "Yeah, would be suicide to go into your NEWT'S without a wand." Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "So, naturally, we'll be going to Jimmy Kiddell."

Hermione felt as if her heart just gave up.

" _What_?" she managed.

"What?" Frank echoed. "Why do you look so destroyed? We thought you'd be excited. That's why we left the wand for last. Jimmy Kiddell's wands are wonderful." As he said this, Hermione tried not took disgusted. Surely, no _sane_ person would talk about wands, Diagon Alley, adjectives like _wonderful_ and then put _Jimmy_ sodding _Kiddell_ in the same mix?

"No, no, it's just.. I heard that-" She couldn't find the right words without sounding rude. She loved spending time with the two Aurors, and over the day, Hermione had grown fond of their company. They had proven to be childish, proud and probably the most hilarious Aurors Hermione had ran into with the exception of Tonks, but…

They let her suffer and stumble over her words for a deathly long 30 seconds longer before Alice, who now proved to master her poker face, burst into fits of laughter. "We're just messing with you, you crazy nut."

"I um… _oh_."

Frank, who didn't look one but apologetic as his masked face broke out into a loud barking laugh, clapped his hands together. "Ready for Ollivanders?"

* * *

How do you tell someone the world is about to end?

How everything, everyone around you, everything you love or care about, is about to go into ruin and turn into dust? How do you prepare someone for the storm brewing, the avalanche of dust of memories, the tornado tearing everything away, leaving nothing but darkness?

It had to be Graham Jiggers.

No matter how much it pained her, it had to be him.

After weeks spent in 1977, he was her only option. There was no connection between them, no real threat that her trust in him would come haunt her in her own time and place. Even telling him would be a risk, but she had to tell someone. There wasn't any other way of clinging onto sanity, or reality – not if she didn't tell at least _someone_.

Loyalty was key.

They had to be smart too; otherwise there was no use in telling. Whoever she did tell, they would have to help her work this whole problem out. Sit through the research, check all facts and details before she could even as much as think of testing getting back to her own time. Which walked hand in hand with her last requirement. They had to want to send her back (forward?); not keep her here for information, and Graham Jiggers had repeatedly, every day since her arriving here, complained about her presence, begging again and again to _please, can't someone else take her?_

He cared, though under different circumstances and sometimes-questionable morale, enough to get her going, and to Hermione, that was more than enough.

She had never actively sought out to partner up with someone like Graham Jiggers, douchebag extraordinaire. Then again, neither had someone _inactively_ travelled back in time without any device or spell whatsoever, so there had to be firsts for everything.

Jiggers wouldn't lose it, because he didn't value hope.

He valued _surviving_.

He was the perfect candidate it seemed. No family. No real connection or relative in her own time. Already bitter from how things were turning and twisting in this time. And so, Hermione started planning. Mapping out what to say, how to say it. How to break it to him, considering all options. She could just drop her shields, let him see it for himself – but she couldn't be that cruel to him, no matter how heavy the burden was to carry. Hermione wasn't a selfless person, in fact, she could easily use other people to gain power to the bigger picture, but back during the war, she'd made a promise. No one, no one, not even Harry or Ron, would ever have to experience what she had.

So how? How do you tell someone how the world will end?

She had to skim through the accuracy, draw out only the most crucial facts, navigate through her words to keep them at the shortest, most concrete meaning. She could talk strategy, but he was too impatient to sit through fine-coated words of destruction.

"You got everything, Granger?"

Looking up from her book, an out-dated book on Goblin Rights, she found Graham Jiggers staring down at her with two cups of coffee in his hands.

She was going to have to get used to living without awfully made coffee, and the drenching old spice perfume clinging to the bathroom, and how the only acceptable records playing on the vinyl were either The Doors or Creedence Clearwater Revival.

He was going to have to start water plants again, learn to stop waking up to the radio broadcast because there would no longer be anyone to turn on the radio, and he would have to start sorting through his books now, his personal librarian soon gone.

Maybe Jiggers had imagined her getting shipped off to Azkaban the first night he'd met her, and maybe Hermione had seen herself fleeing the country, joining some magical community at another continent, and yet here she was.

"Not sure why, but I was expecting you dancing, or at least singing," Hermione admitted.

"None of that I'm afraid," he answered. "I won't be far away."

"You won't?"

"I'm stationed in Hogsmeade until you're done."

Frowning, Hermione sat down her red cup. She repeated the sentence she had prepared in her head for the past 10 minutes one last time, making the final adjustment to remove his first name from the equation. Because even though they were far past surnames, she still didn't think Graham suited him.

"I have to tell you something," she began.

But the Auror wouldn't be the Auror she'd gotten to know if he hadn't so perfectly interrupted her before she got any chance to continue.

"I know, Granger. But really, I'm doing us both a favour here when I say that goodbyes should and will be kept at a minimum. I'm not good at that sappy stuff."

"But…" _this is important._

Graham turned his back at her, and she could her slurping. "I told you, not gonna happen." Something in his voice gave it away; the blue feelings hidden away in the shadows of his tall posture and rough face.

Mentor figures had always had a way to itch their way deep into Hermione's heart, and it was only now that she realized that despite all odds, Graham had become one of them. A mentor of sorts, no matter how uncooperative both of them had acted over the past few days, only staring to make exceptions yesterday at the ministry and at Diagon Ally.

"Figured out your house yet?" he then asked, throwing her completely off track with a worry she hadn't even thought about. "We've placed a bet at the office, me against Longbottom and Fortescue. Tried to get Marrow in on it, but she wouldn't have it."

The thought of the three, four, of them meeting up to bet on something so simple, made Hermione smile, a smile that dropped quick as lightning the moment she took another sip of her coffee.

"Are you really in the position to making bets?" she raised one eyebrow at the back he still had turned to her. "Not more than a galleon I hope? … _Jiggers_? Don't tell me it's more."

"Nah."

Swayed with a wave of relief, Hermione built up enough courage to chug down her last bit of coffee, slamming the cup down on the nearest table. The clinking made the Auror jump, wand pointed where the cup rested in the blink of an eye. When he realized what he'd done, a light shade of red ran up to his ears. He didn't lower his wander until a beat later, and Hermione only figured he'd debated whether to cast something at her or not.

"I hope you'll get Hufflepuff," he muttered, hiding behind his cup of poison. "It would be good for you. You need those kind of people." He scratched his light stubble, leaning against the nearest bookcase for support. "Fortescue was willing to bet her next month salary that you're Gryffindor though."

"If I decide to go for Hufflepuff, I want half the winnings," Hermione stated.

It made him scoff. "Ha! For once, Granger, you don't get to _decide_ anything."

She didn't get a chance to make their goodbye any longer, Graham simply pushing her luggage onto the carriage pulled by a thestral neither of them commented on. Once he was done, he dug up an orange from his coat pocket, handing it over to her. "Sorry I forgot about dinner, but Hogwart's will double it up. I mean... at least they'll be feeding you properly," he muttered under her breath.

Hermione smiled down at the citrus, happy for the impromptu present. During her trip to Diagon Ally with Frank and Alice she had been able to squeeze in a small gift for the Auror herself, though she knew there was no way he would accepted it if she handed it to him willingly, so the light blue package with the yellow ribbon was resting back at the safe house on his bed table.

"Don't do anything stupid, kid."

"I promise."

He gave her one firm nod once she boarded. His last words clung to her shoulders as she was pulled up towards the castle, the safest place in the country… but from the glare he was giving her from outside the thestral carriage, he didn't look so convinced. Over the years, Harry's magnetic power of finding trouble without looking for it had draped over her and Ron as well.

Hermione didn't get to decide anything during her first hour at Hogwarts.

She didn't even get the chance to tell the elves that she was more than capable of carrying her two bags on her own before they were taken away from her and transported away to god knows where. She didn't have any say in the matter before Minerva McGonagall quite literally had to push Hermione up the stairs towards the Headmasters office.

"You have weeks to spend awning about the school decorations, Miss Granger," McGonagall assured, assuming Hermione was struck by the moving portraits engaging in conversation every time she passed, or the floating not to mention moving staircases, or how ghosts roamed the halls with cheery notes of acknowledgement was passed down.

Hermione wasn't captured by the magical things she had grown up amongst though; she was captured by how everything looked whole. How everything was untouched, perfectly complete. How there was not one brick scatter, or one painting hanging loose while the grumpy portrait complained about their fire-marked frame. There were no shadows of curses fired at the walls, no remnants of the battle at all.

Untouched. Unscratched. Unaware of what was to come.

The past beat inside her like a second heart, and she _ached_.

"Here you are," McGonagall stopped at the end of the large Gargoyle corridor. And although the corridor was completely empty with the exception of the two witches, Hermione could see bodies; bodies of people she'd lost, bits from the ceiling that had fallen during attacks from the sky.

Somewhat muffled by the distance, Hermione could still hear Oliver Wood shouting various formations from his broom soaring above, dropping various of curses with his flying arsenal on Death Eaters below. She hadn't known back then, during the battle that is, what his screaming had meant, but she knew the sound; sound of panic. Hermione automatically took a step closer to McGonagall, who didn't hear a thing. Not yet anyway. It would take years before the woman would learn to identify the screams that still danced with the wind. How it would swirl inside her throat  
and captures her voice.

"No matter who you'll be trying to impress, please do us all a favour and don't spread this password around the school. I don't want to hear this tomorrow morning over my breakfast, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded.

It seemed that Albus Dumbledore's creativity for passwords hadn't gotten very much better during this time period, the headmaster still keen on using sweets as the perfect reason for passage. This time, with a rather awkward scowl but determined look, McGonagall offered the password.

Hermione had never tasted Fudge Flies in her entire life, her only recall of seeing them associated with Ron, but it hurt thinking about Ron, so she moved away from the memory.

"Like I said, plenty of time to stare once you're sorted," McGonagall repeated, followed by a light press between Hermione's shoulder blades making her move forwards.

The large circular room, free from marks of battle, was instead filled funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, his time missing the two portraits she'd once been held back from casting a _Incendio_ at. Unaware of the newly entered student, all headmasters happily kept going with their collective afternoon tea, scones getting passed from frame to frame. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat.

During McGonagall's tenure as Headmistress, the room had seemed bigger, everything on a larger scale somehow. The room had been fitted with only the most necessary things, unlike what it looked like now. An old antiques shop – either that or a collector of useless junk and weird, nonsensical inventions.

"Sorry for the mess," a soft voice spoke, and Hermione had to tear her locked gaze away from his desk. She found her old Headmaster over by the Pensive cabinet, smiling tenderly at her as his wand directed all documents and letters to cabinets and hidden bookshelves. "Wonderful to see you again," he greeted, bowing his head slightly.

"Professor."

"Lemon drop before we begin?"

She shook her head. "No thank you." She already had an odd metal taste in her mouth, and she couldn't imagine mixing it with sweets would make it any better.

Glancing up at her Headmaster, she couldn't help but to fall back into the chair behind her, really not feeling up to fight and crane her neck. Sighing, she clasped her fingers together, restraining herself from saying anything else. Her hands were still sticky from the orange Jiggers had given her, but the scent reminded her of mornings at the Burrow, with freshly made juice, pancakes, at least three different types of cheese, freshly baked bread, well-made coffee and newspapers, sometimes Arthur even going so far as buying muggle ones, rustling for every page turn.

Dumbledore must've taken her silence for nerves, because he kept his tone light and warm.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he chuckled, slowly pulling down the Sorting Hat from its shelf.

The hat took a deep breath, and Hermione quickly realized it was about to start to sing a solo concert with the audience of only two. Before the first tone got to shimmer through the oval office though, Dumbledore spared both Hermione and himself, but the Hat as well, from embarrassment.

"We'll be fine with none of that, thank you… Now, where were we, Miss Granger? Ah! Once you reach the Great Hall a prefect from your own house will come and back you up with any lost questions and navigational problems you might run into."

"Okay."

"Ready?"

"Ready."

* * *

" _SO_ excited to finally meet you! House prefect, at your service..."

Hermione was too taken away by the stern handshake and the intense stare that the introducing words offered completely passed her by, as if she'd been under 10 feet of water, or as if someone had casted a reversed _Silencio_ on the room. Nevertheless, Hermione politely shook the prefect's hand, smiling kindly as she gave her own name back in return.

The prefect with the firm stance and quick pace was slightly shorter than Hermione. Not that her height or size stopped her from taking up a lot of space. Gracious hands waved and pointed up and down and right and left and up again because _you can never be too sure where Peeves –that's our poltergeist – is hanging around_ , and sometimes even went so far as reaching up over Hermione's head to get the right perspective.

"See that staircase moving over there? Don't use that one. At least not for a few weeks, until it has calmed down. There was a potion accident."

"…Okay."

"Tell me if I'm going to fast, Hermione," the prefect rushed, and Hermione bit her lip in frustration, hating how the prefect was casually using her name, even if she deserved bonus points for pronouncing it correctly at the first try. "I _am_ supposed to be your personal guide after all."

At first the now newly coloured school tie secured around her neck had felt as if was trying to strangle her to death, but now she couldn't even bother trying to lighten and adjust it. She had to focus on whatever this prefect was telling her; any information valuable. Much to Hermione's relief, the prefect didn't go straight into an interrogation, much like all witches and wizards Hermione had ran into during this age had. Instead, true to their house, the prefect cut straight to explaining the basic theory of the Founders and how the magical castle worked.

"After nearly seven years of climbing these stairs, you tend to build up quite the lung capacity. Unlike Gryffindor, our founder didn't install any secret passages, so we have to climb the traditional way. I have learned to run a mile without getting exhausted though, so that's always something."

Hermione had built up quite a resistance to running as well, though might through climbing stairs.

There was a riddle that more sounded like something pulled from a poetry book than a riddle, _what gets broken without being held?_ and once presented with the task, Hermione only took a moment of hesitation before answering. The prefect seemed pleased they didn't stay locked out for longer than necessary, holding the door open for both of them.

First thing Hermione noticed about the common room was, surprisingly, the temperature. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, baring in mind that colours and dimensions often pulled impressions and thoughts in general directions, but it did seem colder. It made her take a deep breath of air, letting it rush down to the tip of her lungs only seconds before her diaphragm pushed it out of her in a soft sigh. All sense, or even as much of the memory, of choking by her own tie was gone. It felt like waking up.

Thankfully there wasn't many students roaming the tower, most of them out for classes or preparing for such. The room as left in a silence, calmness provided by the symmetry in the common room. Geometry mirrored the light pooling down from all the windows, several crystal chandeliers bringing in more light refracting and reflecting around the room. It was only when Hermione narrowed her eyes that she could make out the overwhelming details of the mobile eagle hanging from above her head, coercing Hermione to gasp at the mere length between floor and ceiling. It made it feel as if the airy room was slowly collecting with rainbows.

"Cool right? You can't even see the study loft from here, but that's just as good. And then we have… I mean, for those who prefer individual space.. we have floating glass terrariums that come in different sizes, for individual or group projects."

"Amazing."

Petite oil lamps were scattered around on small tables and bookcases, but Hermione doubted they were there to provide light, considering more than 50 percept of the walls were made from glass. The lack of space didn't stop the household from enjoying art though. Posters and frames were taped against the white pillars surrounding the room like trees, and at the top of the ceiling and in the small curved space between roof and window, various of frescos spread out, murals of intelligent and witty witches and wizards surrounded by clouds beamed down at Hermione.

"Let's get you settled in," the prefect smiled, quick to rush over to a wall stocked with bookshelves. She pointed to one shelf in particular, which was filled with old books on Greek myths and legends. "Greek is the girls dormitory," she explained, before moving her finger over to another corner. "and the Roman is boys."

Hermione nodded silently, eyes sharp and alert as she watched the prefect reach for a book and how a hidden door revealed itself.

"Welcome home," the prefect smiled, and Hermione had to stop herself from tearing up.

She had to remind herself that this wasn't for a long run. Oh, but the room was so inviting, Hermione didn't want to continue the tour of the castle she already knew like the back of her hand.. she wanted to stay right here and never leave.

"Incredible," she breathed as her feet padded across the blue, matted carpet.

Heavy old curtains, quills and ink, polaroid photos of moments long gone, typewriters, stacks upon stacks of neatly folded clothes and various of old bottles acting as vases were scattered around the dorm room. Someone's bag of toiletries were left at the edge of a bed, fresh from use, still hinting at the indulgent, whipped texture of succulent peach surrounded by a rich floral soul with a hint of plum.

"That's my bed, then there's Nelly, Felicia, Rose and Dex… and that one is yours."

Hermione approached her untouched bed, letting her hand stroke against the blue curtain.

"The beds can change shape if you ask them to, but don't be rude to it if you don't like it… it's at your own risk. As for our dorm, Flitwick really doesn't care much if you want to repaint or redecorate anything, just as long you live up to it," the prefect went on, nodding over towards how one of the dorm mates had decided that the regular, traditionally offered bed was out of fashion, a hammock hanging between two statues replacing it instead.

Where the prefect had pointed out her own bed, the routine desktop had been replaced with a large bulletin board, white threads connecting news articles in a large spiders web. It reminded Hermione of one of those detective shows her dad used to watch when she was little.

From this new angle, Hermione was able to catch the small block disrupting the sleek bed.

There, resting on top of her fluffy pillow was a leather-bound book.

Hermione had seen enough of cursed objects and books in her life to be cautious enough to stay away from it, avoiding the temptation to reach out and pick it up. Instead she turned around and stared at the prefect she still hadn't figured out the name of yet, the question evident without any words spoken aloud.

"It's for you."

"A gift?"

"A gift," the prefect confirmed. "It's Ravenclaw tradition. Flitwick always hands one out to first years, but it's never too late."

If the Charms professor (and now Head of House, she reminded herself) was the source behind the book, it was without a doubt curse proof. With this in mind, Hermione's let the white pages blow a soft breeze as she flicked through it.

"But it's empty."

"Sometimes an empty page presents more possibilities."

Flitwicks words, filtered through the prefect, lit a spark inside of Hermione. In a flash she was kneeling down in front of the trunk she'd packed the few belongings she'd gathered at Diagon Ally only yesterday, hands roaming around shirts and wool jumpers in the desperate need for a quill. She just hoped to god it hadn't leaked with ink all over her school uniform.

"I'll give you some time to breathe and get settled before we head down for tea, okay?"

"Hmhmf," Hermione hummed, hands twisting around until she finally gave up, ordering an _Accio Quill_ aimed at the bag, kicking herself for not coming up with that idea earlier. Tearing out a page from the book Flitwick had given her, Hermione started to write her letter, praying to Merlin that Sirius Black wouldn't burn it the second he realized who the letter was from.

* * *

 **There's some John Banville in this chapter, because you need your daily dose of good shit ok. Oh, and if you can and have the possibility to review, please do. It motivates me to do better, make better, update better. On another note; is there anyone out there with the brutal and most absurd technique of drinking HOT tea with a straw? I'm trying to prove a point here, because clearly that's not human behaviour. Until next time (or sooner, if you want,)**


	7. seven

**AN: I just bought the same beasties/get off my dick t-shirt Robert Pattison owns and I've never felt more alive. There you go, update on my life. On with the story!**

* * *

Hermione wakes with a crick in her neck and a tailbone sore from being pressed into a hard floor. It takes a moment for the dreamscape to fade, to place the smooth white walls and blue curtains. As foggy eyes slowly learn to adjust to just a little extra brightness, Hermione tries to catch her breath. Stinging muscles carry her back into her bed just in time wakeup.

Her roommates have to physically _pull_ her downstairs for breakfast.

Naturally, the majority of the meal is spent massaging temples, taking turns on casting silencing charms and switching between orange juice and crunchy toast. Still, through the whole breakfast, everyone at the Ravenclaw table is smiling. It _does_ make it easier, for some reason, and the pounding inside Hermione's head is starting to gradually soften, enough for her to raise her eyes from her cupped hands.

Once again it's too bright, but she push through, eyes moving to watch the charmed ceiling above and the thousands and thousands of candles floating in mid-air. Today the sky was orange and baby blue, white clouds hiding in the corners of the space.

''Help me out with this, will you? There has to be a loophole in this…'' a voice mumbled beside her.

Slowly, Hermione let her eyes fall back to the table filled with golden plates, quills, ink bottles and books. It was messier than what she was used to at the Gryffindor table, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

''Flitwick is a The Who fan, right? I reckon he'll understand if we skip Astronomy.''

The piece of orange Hermione was chewing on almost choked her. In-between coughing, Hermione's eyes flashed between her roommates.

''I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be the perfect students?''

''We _are_ perfect students,'' Nelly Cooke offers Hermione a sly grin. Even if it was Sunday and barely anyone paid any attention, her lips were already plucked with a lava red lipstick.

While balancing mushrooms and a grilled tomato with quintessential care, two dark eyes peaked up from the spoon. ''Well… either that, or we're the worst. There's no real in-between,'' the boy with almost identical eyes to Nelly's said. Then, mouth wide and agape, the grilled food vanished.

''And you're the worst of us, Ben,'' Nelly grinned. ''That's what makes you special.''

''I'll tell mum if you don't stop.''

Pausing the siblings light bickering, Milo Tarlton, the Ravenclaw prefect who'd shown her the common room, decided to speak up. ''I think Hermione is more of an Elton John witch,'' she said after looking up from the Hogsmeade permission slip, still no luck in finding a loophole to sneak out to a concert. She looked confident, eyes steady and certain. Which was odd. Hermione had barely shared ten words with Milo so far. ''She grew up with Muggle music,'' the prefect continues, oblivious to Hermione's dumbfounded eyes.

Nelly shrugs, not at all that bothered with how Milo has suddenly taken it upon herself to be Hermione's official spokesman for the topic of music.

A new, very distressed, voice cut an end to the discussion.

'' _Please_ tell me there's bacon left!''

Hermione turns around to see the third roommate Rose Cohle and the sixth year Li Henson squeeze through the tight gap formed between four Ravenclaws. While Rose was generally graceful, while as Li makes it up to the already crowded table, her cheeks glows rosy as she starts squeezing herself in. Her ground-grazing white-tiered ruffles and lantern sleeves gets pulled in all different directions. Once she landed a seat (a quick hand grasping onto Nelly's brunette head for balance) it looked like she had just travelled with a whirlwind to get there.

''I saved mine for you,'' Nelly muttered as she pushed over a nicely laid out plate for the short girl to have. It didn't take long until Li's small hands were picking on the food, lips twisting and pursing as she chewed down the pancakes and bacon.

''Th-anhks!''

The group of Ravenclaws goes into a full-on survival guide to the mealtimes and the basic facts about the Great Hall. They tell Hermione about the four tables, Ravenclaw neighbouring with Slytherin, they tell her about the bewitched ceiling and they tell her about the school ghosts flying about. Nelly turns out to be the most competitive one, pointing to the four hourglasses shining in the house colours. It was all about earning points, Nelly told Hermione. ''And I swear to god, if I see anyone deduct points because of you, you're out.''

''It's true,'' Li nodded. ''One time I lost 20 points and Nelly had me sleep in the common room for a week.''

''It was _one night_ ,'' Nelly reasoned. ''...and I went out to keep you company after one hour, remember?''

Li chose to ignore the hazel eyes, turning back to Hermione. ''What I am trying to say is that if you lose points it's only fair we kick you out.''

''Don't be like that,'' Milo dissuaded. ''Of course she'll lose points. She's a newbie. Technically a first year.''

''Not under my wing, she won't,'' Nelly crossed her arms over a slightly heaving chest. Then, once she felt satisfied enough with her stern glare directed towards the Ravenclaw prefect, Nelly turned back to Hermione with a smug smile. ''I'll teach you all about Hogwarts. Just follow my lead, grasshopper.''

''Actually, Flitwick appointed _me_ to be her guide so-''

Rambunctious laughter steals Hermione's attention and she pauses her small picking of grapes while listening to Nelly and Milo talk. Sitting opposite to Hermione, Li remains void of emotion, but Milo gives her a questioning glance she doesn't meet. She waits, and sure enough, soon a familiar quartet of Gryffindors soon swooping inside.

Hermione had to tell herself the boy walking up front wasn't Harry, but James Potter.

She had to tell herself not to miss Harry as she watched the doppelgänger stroll down the passage. This was _James_ , not Harry, she had to remind herself as the doppelgänger passed a notebook to the blond next to him. Slightly behind James and Peter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were moving at a sluggish speed. One hand was resting in the space between Black's shoulder blades, Remus leaning forward as a laughter filters through the clinking and commotion of the Great Hall.

She was glad to see the two friends laughing. Ever since she arrived here, Sirius had been a complicated ally. When he first tracked her down when she was still with Jiggers in Hogsmeade she had made a deal with him; for him to help her stay as far off the grid as possible. Sirius end of the deal was that that included his and his friends (more specifically, Remus) grid too.

''Could I read your palm?''

Hermione jumps at the sound of a nearby voice, head turning to meet two eyes staring at her patiently. Any other day and she would've gone into questioning the subject of Divination and it's forged and unviable rules, but today she didn't; neither did she pull away like she usually did whenever someone tried to pull her into the drivel of chiromancy. She stayed rooted to the spot, only a small huff of disapproving escaping her.

''I don't really believe in this,'' she muttered as Milo cupped her hand, no attempt in trying to hide her doubtful, sceptical eyes.

''I know,'' Milo answers secretively while Nelly simultaneously jumps up her seat, joining with a piercing: ''You should!''

''No, I shouldn't. No one should.''

With a snap of her fingers, Li's eyes turned wide and alert as she turned to Nelly. ''Oh! Remember when she told us that the Ballycastle Bats would try and replace their brooms with mops once they lost to Barntons? Or that time she woke us up in the middle of the night blaring ABC'S and it took us one week to realize they were the answers to the theory test in Charms?''

Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed onto the table with a free hand. ''The lines are random. There's nothing about them that-''

Someone next to her, a boy who she hadn't noticed before shushed her, non-blinking eyes moving closer to watch the scanning of her hand in awe. It's only now that Hermione actually notice how many of the Ravenclaw students are leaning closer, huddling together at the table. ''Found anything?''

Milo, still holding Hermione's hand, didn't seem to react. Peeking out from Li's shoulder, however, Nelly's hand start to reach out, just long enough to give Li a light shove. ''Hush! You might ruin it,'' she warned, hazel eyes shining behind amber glasses. Then, when Li looked like she was about to say something again – Nelly shoved a piece of bread into the culprit's mouth.

''Oh. Wow.''

Hermione's eyes flew back to Milo, her hands dropping to the table again upon being released. Relived that it was over, Hermione glanced at the quiescent reader with the big doll eyes, which were already staring right back at her. Waiting.

Then Milo said the oddest thing.

''I don't trust people who can look good with messy hair.''

''Pardon?''

Shaking her head, Milo leaned back, a hand fumbling with a pain au chocolat, the golden roll slowly unwrapping and thin leafs of the pastry falling to the blue napkin underneath.

''The Gryffindor. What's his name again? Remus, right?''

The moment the name fell from Milo, Hermione tensed. Lines were random. There was nothing about them that could tell you about the future or the past or anything there in-between. They didn't mean anything. They were completely random and insignificant.

''What about him?''

''I think you should be careful around him,'' Milo said judiciously.

Nelly gulped down a full piece of toast to answer. ''Yeah, he's in a cult.''

' _'What_?''

Next to Hermione, the little boy who had shushed her just minutes earlier was brave enough to speak up. He couldn't be more than 12. ''He told me it was a secret rock-band,'' he said with a small voice, a hand going up to pull some of his hair over his eyes. ''Said it was secret because they weren't doing so good.''

 _A rock-band?_ Hermione couldn't find any reason to why he would have to lie about being a band. It didn't make any sense. But no, there was no way that Remus Lupin was in a rock-band…. _No._

''No, a _cult_!'' Li piped up, suddenly eager to fill in all her knowledge on the matter. ''At least that's what Todd told us, and Todd's a preeetty resourceful guy, trust me on that...'' She looked like she wanted to add something, but stopped herself, changing course of her pooling words. ''It's not just Lupin though. His friends are in on it too. They're all in some kind of secret society. They even have weekly summoning's and stuff.''

''Yeah, it started early, didn't it?'' Nelly muttered, resting her elbow on the table, eyes going distant as she tried to remember. ''It wasn't in first year, right? No, that's too early.''

''At first everyone thought it was a book club, but then in third year Potter - that's the Head Boy by the way - walked into breakfast all muddy,'' Li rattles, hands gripping onto the table as she search Milo and Nelly for any sign of recognition. ''And then there was one time they were on strike, I think? They went mute for _months_. Felicia Montmorency cried a day straight because she had to the group presentation all by herself while Potter stood in the background and held up pictures of the research. And _oh_ , this one time I saw them sneak out a book on South African voodoo from the library! If that doesn't tell you something I don't know what will.''

It was fair to say that Hermione was stunned. Stunned and amazed. She didn't know whether to cry or laugh. How was it that a gang of four boys had the whole school that they were in a secret cult?

 _Unbelievable_.

''I'm not saying you should stay away from him,'' Milo tuned in on the conversation again. ''It wouldn't be fair if you avoided him. It would hurt both of you. Unless… no… never mind.''

Hermione was just about push Milo for more than that answer (even though she would never, ever, really fall under the theories of Divination and palm-reading) but before she could there was a light tap on her shoulder, followed by someone clearing their throat for attention.

''Professor Flitwick!''

''Morning students,'' the squeaky voice of the Charms teacher greeted them, a sense of House pride boasting through the table. ''I do not wish to interrupt. I myself have a handful of projects to sort out, not to mention grading,'' he waved his hands, his small glasses sparking for a second. ''I'm here to deliver this to you, Miss Granger… this just arrived to my table rather than yours,'' he said slowly, bright eyes watching the new girl. For a second he actually looked worried. '' _Very_ urgent, I understand.''

5 minutes later, Hermione finds herself walking through echoing hallways her final piece of breakfast on the go.

The enormous mound of lemon sherbet was already teetering precariously on top of a narrow cone, her tongue sticking out to the side of her mouth slightly as she focused on the endeavour of maintaining the treat as she cut down a side corridor in a shortcut. A brown, now torn up envelope was pressed under her armpit, restricting her movements even further.

She hadn't exactly planned on eating ice-cream for breakfast, but Nelly's tiny brother Ben Cooke had insisted on demonstrating his freezing charm on her lemon-juice; with a simple flick of his wand turning it into the yellow sorbet she was now trying to balance.

Hermione would've happily stayed at the Ravenclaw table, but the letter _did_ sound stressed, capital letters and all. Quite frankly, she was surprised he hadn't sent a howler. It almost had the same effect.

There wasn't even an introduction. Not even a simple hello.

 _BEFORE YOU FLATTER YOURSELF,  
THEY'RE FORCING ME TO CHECK ON YOU.  
FORTESCUE WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT YOU,  
SO YOU'LL HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING BACK._  
 _OVER AND OUT. (PS. HURRY UP.)_

And so, Hermione was on her way to the Owlery to answer the arrogant, stupid Auror who was so full of himself, her mind spinning slightly from the rush of stairs moving around her. She decided that eating while walking wasn't ideal, so she kept the two separate, deciding that she could finish her sherbet once she was at the top of the tower.

She hadn't been separated from Graham Jiggers for very long, and she hadn't missed him, that's for sure, but for some reason it was a relief to hear from him. Even if, like he so openly had stated in the letter, he had been ordered to write to her.

 _''It's protocol,''_ she could hear him say. He always did. Either that or '' _Precautions, Granger. Ever head of em?''_

Walking through the castle was different.

Not only when you carried a dessert with you, but it was different in the meaning that there weren't any gaping holes in the roof with piles of bricks beneath. The statues that had been decapitated or worse were standing tall, gleaming in the light of the lanterns. So far, everything was still safe. Intact. The same.

It was sad, her last memory of Hogwarts becoming one of rubble and destruction. It was funny how she had wished for this old image back – this strong and steady castle to be whole again, but walking through the corridors it still didn't feel the same.

Because years from now, everything would still crash and fall.

Ignoring the flashes of images from the battle, Hermione accelerates when she reach a certain spot where all the bodies had been collected for identifying. She would've ignored the passage if she could, but Hermione knew Hogwarts like the back of her hand, and there was no other route. Instead of letting the image slow her down, Hermione push forward.

Stairs couldn't be avoided, as there were many flights of them that separated the Great Hall and the Owlery, but at least this one was of a less-travelled path with less obstacles to potentially encounter.

Theoretically.

A shrill shriek rang out abruptly from a portrait waiting on the bottom of the ascending stairs; it's piercing noise startling Hermione enough to halt in her tracks. Lungs quickly drew a deep mouthful of air before zipping shut, eyes wide staring at the cone, eyes only moving to watch the culprit in the frame trying to dash away an insect that had started crawling up the canvas.

"Was that really necessary?" she glowered as the dessert wobbled. Everything felt as if it were moving in slow motion for the briefest moment, until her hand steadied and she released the locked breath in a sigh of relief, eyes closing in content.

''The living conditions in this castle is getting worse!'' the portrait complained.

Hermione didn't say anything. Years from now, everything would still crash and fall.

* * *

This time it was the hands.

It was the hands that told him something was out of the full picture, something ruining the flow. A glitch in the already monstrous machine labelled as Remus Lupin. This had never happened before, and no matter what, he couldn't reach a conclusion. He couldn't catch the answer in time. The source was non-inexistent. Gone. Erased. And yet something inside him lingered.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Blinking like a fast moving movie picture, he tried to convince himself that it was highly possible to experience earthquakes in northern Scotland. Because this wasn't _his_ doing, was it? No, couldn't be. He wasn't doing this to himself. He wouldn't. Because no matter how hard he glared, or how persistent he was in trying to close his fingers into a tight grasping fist, they remained a blur.

After a sharp inhale, Remus made himself close his eyes for good this time. He leaned back against the strong walls of the castle, slowly trying to collect all thoughts and calm himself.

A hand tremor wasn't something life threatening, he knew that from books he'd secretly checked out from the library, but it _did_ make daily tasks difficult. Like casting spells, or eating, or getting dressed… most importantly, and to which it frustrated Remus the most, it made it a hell lot more difficult to stay normal.

Remus used to know how to hide things inside of himself – how to stay the same around people and fool every single one how he was still him. How he was still _their_ familiar Remus, prefect and awkwardly tall and always there to lend out books or offer chocolate. But lately he'd changed, and he wasn't theirs anymore. Sadly, they'd started to notice. It hadn't taken long for Peter to comment about his hands, or how he had been 'off' lately.

Repeatedly, he'd told Peter that he was fine.

Repeatedly, he'd woken up from shaking, and for the life of him, he couldn't make it stop.

Suppose he could ask someone to place a cessation charm on him, which would practically paralyze whichever body part aimed at, but that would only mean that he had to talk to someone about it, and they would most surely expect an explanation to the trembling, which, much to his anger, Remus didn't even have for himself yet. So he kept his condition for himself, slowly testing out new methods of stopping it. Sometimes it was tempting to ask someone for help.

During bad days, it would spread.

Move from his hands up his arms, to his head and vocal cords. When it got that bad, Remus only saw two options. He usually went for the first option. _One_ : stay silent to avoid any broken syllables from destroying his words. He would keep trying to mild his involuntary shaking to a minimum, which meant no moving, no magic, no eating, no nothing. Waiting _waiting_ for the tremors to quiet down.

He'd recoil to his bed, where he would bury his head so deep into his hands that everything around him would go dark. Remus couldn't remember when this habit of his had sprung to life, but he could only guess it had been early. He'd found himself doing it for as long as he could remember.

On his own, trying to conquer himself.

Sometimes his friends would catch him hiding like this, and sometimes they would let him be – give him space to breathe and regain strength. They usually never let it go on for more than an hour though, even if they had been the ones to drive him to the cradling position in the first place. It wasn't always that easy though. The majority of the times he'd fallen this deep, they hadn't been there to throw him a hand to get back.

Remus had lived through this method for days before he found her.

 _Julie Friol._

It had been on mistake really. Because ever since their grapefruit lipstick catastrophe on the Hogwarts Express, Remus had stayed away, and whenever they did meet, he would usually just find himself making excuses to run away before the blush on his ears would get too out of hand. Because the lips and hands and lips and touches and _lips_ on the train had been a mistake. A real big mistake on his part – letting his inner wolf go on it's instincts, and honestly, although Remus always laughed it off whenever his friends teased him about it, he never felt more ashamed than how recklessly he'd acted during that time. So he ran, like he often did. He washed his shirt from any pink polka dots and he pushed the idea of it away. And it worked. Avoiding her had been easy too, the Marauders Map always a helping hand in avoiding awkward confrontations.

Then he'd made the mistake of forgetting the map one day.

And then he'd made the mistake of misjudge the level of his ache, nearly loosing his footing on one of the staircases, if it hadn't been for Julie Friol and her helping hand stopping him from falling. She'd taken his hand and met his terrified eyes, and she'd told him it was okay.

 _Everything is going to be okay, Remus._

He didn't remember much of her questions, or what his answers had been that day, but nevertheless, they ended up in a broom cupboard, and that's when he realized what an amazing affect being close to the Hufflepuff had.

She was an escape he had only discovered when he bent the rules and ignored his embarrassed state of mind only to get closer. He let her hands tie themselves around his neck; amazed to feel his own hands cool down, slowly but surely going completely still.

As he held her in his hands, hands that for some reason were completely fine now, he took a leap and asked himself what the source _could've_ been. Because if _this_ was the solution something similar must have triggered it in the first place. A touch, more specifically – but he couldn't remember where from. It had been taken from him, the memory in some odd lockdown under maximum security.

He got close to breaking in whenever he was around Julie Friol.

Their friendship had had started last year during their sixth year at Hogwarts, when they had first started walking night rounds together, catching lost first years and blushing fifths. The two Prefects had a blast last year, usually checking in with each other every other day during the school term. Then, when summer arrived, every so often Julie had sent over her beautiful grey owl, bound with letters and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Then when they'd met at the train it had kind of just went from friendship to… more.

She was the first to lean in for a kiss.

The minutes spent with the Hufflepuff, with scarves twisting around them while they fumbled and tumbled and explored with hands and eyes and lips, Remus felt as if he won. The shaking seized and it felt as if he could breathe again. Not that Julie Friol was his forgotten memory – she wasn't his memory – but she was close. She was enough. And no matter how horrible that sounded, Remus reminded himself that he was never supposed to deserve anything better than enough.

And Julie was wonderful. She really was. She was shades of pastel, she tasted like grapefruit and she smelt like a shower of citrus fruits. She was funny and charming, even teasing him when she noticed how his hands would start to quake the second he let go of her. _"Oh, you don't have to be nervous, Remus, it was sweet,"_ she had smirked at him, tilting her head to peck his cheek, and Remus let himself hold onto her for a little while longer.

It wasn't a home, but it was _close_.

Although most days were spent in isolation, today was one of those days when Remus hoped differently.

Finding Julie wasn't really that hard. As of lately, the Hufflepuff had proven to be quite predictable. She either spent her time sitting next to her little sister, currently tucked into one of the beds in the Hospital Wing due to a rather nasty transfiguration mishap. Every now and then, the little sister would develop a new skin, different colours every day. Julie would come over and keep her company, but sometimes the tiny Friol sister would throw a fit and burst out in emotions – all in which Julie would storm out in embarrassment. When Julie wasn't checking in with her sister, she always went to the lake, which was exactly where Remus found her today.

"Julie!" he called out to her, making her head snap up from the drawing she had made in the sand. She smiled, and Remus felt himself doing the same. He would've waved at her, but for now, his hands remained locked behind his back, strained and aching.

As he got closer, he was able to make out who was sitting next to her. Henry Edgecombe, playing Seeker of the Hufflepuff quidditch team.

"Hey you," Julie smiled as he finally got close enough. "I was hoping you'd show up."

Plopping down on the ground next to her, Remus was quick to reach out for her. Hands found hands, and he stilled almost instantly. It felt amazing, really – how something so simple could make something that felt like a thunderstorm stop. "Here I am," he exhaled, mentally scolding himself for grasping her hands so tightly.

Next to them, the third wheel to the party cleared his throat.

"I'll leave you two," Henry fumbled awkwardly with the collar of his shirt. "See you in class, yeah?"

"Of course."

True to his Seeker speed, Henry was quick to gather his things – but not before stroking a hand over the sand below, messing up the drawings and scribbles he and Julie had made prior to the Gryffindors appearance. Nothing too private, but no matter how much Henry told himself that he really shouldn't care what Remus Lupin (out of all people at Hogwarts) thought of him, he wasn't looking forward to the Gryffindor running back to his house sharing his opinion on Henry's light sketches of flowers and trees.

After a double take, checking if Julie was cool being left alone with her boyfriend (or whatever he was?) Henry started climbing the path back up to the castle. He moved on quite rapidly, hoping to Merlin that he would be out of earshot before Lupin would make Julie bursts into a fit of her light shiny giggles.

He didn't – roaring laughing heard behind him, but Henry didn't find himself as irritated as expected. Instead, he found himself out of breath, nearly about to run into another student on their descending way _down_ the hill.

"Oh!" Henry exclaimed, swinging to a halt before looking up. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, it's a heavy climb if you're as stressed as I am," he panted; eyes searching his newly found company for a name. "… you're _new_."

Smiling, the Ravenclaw nodded. "That I am."

Pushing his bag away from blocking, Henry outstretched his arm. "Henry Edgecombe."

"Hermione Granger." She gave him a sympathetic look, as if pitying his puffing short breaths. "Should I be worried..? You make it seem like you're running from a hoard of pixies. They're not down there, are they?"

The Hufflepuff scowled. "Not quite… you should stay away from the water well though. They're setting up camp over there, I think."

There was something about the way she was standing and composing herself that made Henry think she'd been at the school for more than two days. She looked confident and sure of herself, of her surroundings, even of him – and he had so far only given her his name. He found himself envying her confidence, because surely, it was all just an act. Behind all of that, she was just like any other lost first year at Hogwarts.

Reminding himself of this, Henry straightened his posture to match hers, offering his smoothest smile yet.

"Do you need directions somewhere or any help? There's a lot of places to Hogwarts."

"Actually, I was on my way down to the Groundskeeper."

"Oh… okay. Well, you're on the right track. It's right down this path, past the river, right by the edge of the forest," Henry pointed out the route continuing down the hill. Then, after some thought, he wondered if she'd gotten the regular warnings about the school bounds. Either way, you could never be too careful. "Don't go into the forest though… hey, in fact, do you want me to come with you, just in case?"

"Oh, no, that's alright, but thank you, Henry."

"No problem. If you take a wrong turn, you can always ask my friend down by the lake. She'll point you in the right direction. You'll pass her on your way to Hagrid."

Unaware of the Ravenclaw Henry had just sent their direction, Julie kept her laughter tucked into the crook of Remus neck as he kept tickling her, all while he kept on claiming that he really wasn't doing it on purpose. He was just correcting and adjusting her clothes, he'd told her between soft, breathless chuckles.

"You're _impossible_ , Remus Lupin," she smiled, glancing down at their hands.

"How so?"

She blushed. "You're so distracting all the time," she mumbled, lowering her chin in embarrassment at how tiny she felt. He barked a laugh, tugging her back into his chest, nearly crushing her to him as his lips found her ear.

"Distracting?"

" _Yes_ , distracting!" she cried out, grinning as she fought herself away from his embrace so that she could face him. When she did, she got to see that he was sporting a blush similar to her own. The fact that he was just as nervous as she boosted her enough to keep going.

"I never get to ask you before… before we, _you know_." Words die out and Julie finds herself staring at their intertwined hands, fascinated at how he always seemed to prioritize just that.

Forehead dipping to rest against hers, Remus sighed. "Ask me what?"

"If you're… if this means that we're… that you're my boyfriend. Because, well, I would need to know. I want to know what you're looking for."

"Oh," he says, stuck in a stunned dumbfounded shock. Then he gulps, and just as Julie was expecting actual words; at least a response, he falls flat again. "… _Oh_."

That really wasn't what she had been hoping for as a response. In fact, _anything_ but _that_. She started pulling back, starting to tear away from his grasp, and although he did seem reluctant to let her fingers leave his, he let her go. She found him frowning down at her, for some reason looking as if _she'd_ been the one who hurt _him_. Now that was wrong. It was the other way around.

 _Bastard_.

This explained the non-talkative part of this whole… thing. Whatever it was. But clearly it wasn't a relation. He'd just made that very clear with his stupid _Oh's_.. "You could've just told me," she grumbled, starting to get up from her seat.

"No, Julie, wait. Hey, _wait_."

Taking a deep breath, Julie froze. "What?"

Remus pans down to watch his hand. It quivers in fear. He stares at his hand as if it belongs to someone else. For the second time that week, Remus beat himself over the option of amputation. No, no fucking way. Green stormy eyes turns back to Julie, who looks just as upset.

"That really wasn't… I should've… that's not what I meant. I was just caught off guard, that's all," he hurried as he scrambled to his feet. "I'm really bad at this stuff…"

A scoff. "No kidding!"

Then he had the audacity to _smirk_ at her. And, like most times, it made her heart skip a beat. Fucker. "You're quite distracting too, you know," he confessed, and if he couldn't be more bold, he took her hand in his again.

"You… damn you, Remus Lupin."

* * *

Seeing Hagrid always cheered Hermione up, this time no different. But that didn't mean seeing Remus hurt. Staying away from Remus wasn't just for his own best, it was for hers too, and although Sirius helped her to stay in the clear from the young werewolf, it was proving to be very difficult to stay away from him. Next time she saw him was on Monday at breakfast, walking out the moment she walked in.

From how everyone was still casually talking amongst themselves, some throwing (some levitating) paper airplanes at each other, some frantically trying to finish the homework the last minute, some taking the time to catch up with some sleep, The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher being late was a regular thing.

''He'll show up,'' a muffled voice muttered.

Frowning down at her roommate, who had her forehead and arms pressed down onto the table in a sleepy position; Hermione poked the end of her quill at the short girl. ''Does Professor Ryle usually take this long?''

''You'll understand once you see him.''

''What is that supposed to mean?''

''He's.. he's…'' Li cuts herself off to let a yawn stretch her body; drowsy eyes finally opening and glancing around the room as her hands slowly fall down from their high reach, never reaching their goal of the iron chandelier hanging above. ''He's tired.'' Like a balloon losing its oxygen, Li slowly soften and melts down into her sleeping position again. ''Mmm tired too.''

''He's tired? Of what?''

Feeble shoulders shrug.

''Everything.''

Before Hermione could ask what that could mean, the door to the teacher's office opened, and quiet enveloped the room, punctured only when Professor Ryle himself grumbled out a small ''Morning class.'' As he walked to his desk, stacks of papers and small silver instruments started to stack on the table. Reaching for chalk, the professor moved to write something on the board.

It was hard to catch any details of him; his back mostly turned, but even when he turned around Hermione found it to be a hard task. Even though it was late summer he was dressed in grey and green layers, the argyle matted and soft against his olive skin. In his left hand, the forgotten tie was being twisted and curled, knitted eyebrows debating whether he should even bother or not.

Li's comment lingered in the back of Hermione's head.

He's tired.

Exhaustion was something she was familiar with, but she hadn't seen it on this scale while stuck in this timeframe. She hadn't expected to see the dark depth forming under the professors eyes, how his eyes were blank or how somehow, despite all above, he looked angry.

It was pretty clear his nights were tampering with his head and heart, but that wasn't why Li had marked the word _tired_ to his character. No, physically, he wasn't tired. It was everything else, the world around him that was draining him from energy.

''When I was sitting where you are sitting right now sitting my professor told me about the difference between good and bad,'' Professor Ryle starts, his bloodshot eyes staring at a particular spot in the corner of the classroom. ''In later years I've come to question it… When you're facing a aimed wand, an Unspeakable seconds away, what's the difference between good and bad?''

Someone raised their hand, but the professors head was hanging too low to notice.

On a cut piece of parchment, Nelly Cooke starts taking notes. From peaking over her roommate's crouched shoulder, Hermione took note of the several of moral questions the Ravenclaw had scribbled down over the course so far.

 _This was it?_

Ethical questions of right and wrong? Fight or flight?

Hermione frowned. Of course there had been worse scenarios in this jinxed classroom, stories of Amycus Carrow still causing haunting strips of horror from all the stories Neville and Ginny had told her. Still, Hermione knew for a fact that students sitting in this classroom would be in the middle of a war only a year from now. To sit here and discuss morals shouldn't be the priority. It should be defence and practical skills.

Chalk lines drew up a diagram on the green tinted board.

''Kohlberg's three level scheme of moral reasoning,'' Professor Ryle continued to lead the lecture, the white lines growing more excessive. '' _One_. We take action with the intent to gain rewards and avoid punishment. _Two_. We see rules as black and white, good or bad. _Three_. We are capable of constructing a 'wider picture' where morality exists on a spectrum of circumstance and understanding.''

This time when a hand shoots up to ask a question, Ryle notices, a slow nod making his square face frown. ''Yes, Miss Stebbins?''

While a determined Hufflepuff starts the argument of a grey-zone between right and wrong with a very firm redhead Gryffindor claims that there was only black and white and that there was only a matter of choice, Hermione leans over Nelly's notes again. It didn't look like DADA notes, more something you would find at a psychology or philosophy class.

''Have you had any practical practise so far?'' Hermione whispered Nelly, leaning close enough not to be heard. A small part of her was still hoping her theories of Professor Ryle's teaching were wrong, bearing in mind that she had missed at least a week of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

''Nope,'' Nelly shook her head absently as she copied down a word for word transcript of the questioner Stebbins and Evans were demonstrating up at the board in front of the classroom.

''I think he's trying to stop us from going bad once we're out,'' Li said in a hushed tone. Compared to Nelly's, her paper and quill stayed untouched. Instead, the new and polished textbook, _Confronting the Faceless,_ was flipped open to a random page on the Inferi.

''Going bad? You mean joining the Death Eaters?''

''Maybe. I think so.''

Still induced in her writing, Nelly somehow managed to multi-task, the quill stubbornly staying locked to the parchment but her hears pulled in Hermione and Li's direction. She huffed. ''It's already too late for that. Parents regiment their kids from the moment they're old enough to understand words… tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel. Once they leave for Hogwarts, it's already too late. Manipulation can't be reversed after all that.''

Nelly's words drilled into Hermione's head like a icicle – dissolving and spreading once it pierced her skull, dread threading through her nerves and blood.

Next to her, Li looked like she was having a similar experience, a shiver supressed under angry eyes. ''Don't say that, Nel!'' she silenced. ''You don't seriously think there are people at this school who's… who's actually seen… no, who's taken the…''

'' _Ladies_.''

Jolting awake from Li's haunting words, Hermione turned around just in time to see Sirius Black fix his aim in preparation to throw a crumpled piece of parchment their direction. In the corner of his mouth, the tip of his tongue was sticking out in focus, but once their eyes met, Sirius dropped his arm.

The young werewolf with a head full of curls next to Sirius wasn't looking her direction – his eyes strictly locked to the Professor up front, eyes filled with wonder and attention. Unlike most people in the class, Remus had at least three other textbooks brought with him. Extra reading to use, perhaps. Hermione faintly remembers doing the same thing in her 6th year in Transfiguration, her favourite subject at the time.

Next to him, Peter Pettigrew was having the similar experience as Li, eyes bored, head tilted and chin rested in his palm. Every now and then his hand slowly, _slowly_ dipped down from the table, carefully slipping into a small brown bag sticking out of his bag on the floor.

It shouldn't have surprised her to see a marauder sneaking food into class, but out of all the things, green wasabi nuts?

Lastly there was James, eyes watching as Sirius took another aim at Hermione. While James looked at her as if she was any old stranger, Hermione stared at him like he was family to her. That might explain why he scrunched his eyebrows at her, shrugging before turning his back at her, continuing with his doodling, suddenly very immersed with his sketch of a dragon. That was something she had noticed about James Potter. It was in very rare occasions you saw him without a pen; a pen that he without question had nicked from Lily Evans and all her other office supplies.

Hermione's attention was snapped once a ball of paper hit her right in the forehead, quickly falling to the floor after the crash. The thrower, Sirius, was glaring at her.

 _What?_ Hermione mouthed, eyebrows tilted in confusion.

''Some of us are trying to listen to the lecture, ok? So _please_ ,'' Sirius managed through gritted teeth, his voice quieter than expected. ''Don't ruin this.''

Cowering back to face the black board and the desk up front, Hermione stares at the square faced professor in deep thought. Even if Li and Nelly was right about his teaching only striving to stop bad outcomes after graduation, the method wasn't ideal. It was too late to work on this scale – and even though she didn't know it, Li had been right. There was future Death Eaters walking these halls.

Crossing her arms, Hermione falls back into her seat.

Everyone around her needed proper training. They needed to be prepared to fight – not to reason their way out of war. There was nothing like that in a war like this. Ryle should be smart enough to have figured that out by now.

''This isn't right,'' slips out from her mouth. ''This is bad.''

''It's better than History of Magic, that's for sure,'' Li muttered, puffing out some hair in an attempt to move her black silky hair away from her forehead. ''I really don't see why Milo and Rose would continue that class. Binns' voice just sends me riiiight to sleep.''

''They're pacifists.'' Nelly rolled her eyes. ''Don't see any difference from _defense_ and _attack_.''

There was really no way to respond to that quietly, so Hermione doesn't answer at all. She stays silent for the rest of the class, despite Professor Ryle's attempt at getting everyone involved in the hundred hypothetical questions and scenarios he showered them in. Once it's time to pack up Hermione basically rolls out on the waves of students, her hands gripping onto the textbooks a little too tightly.

She'd only left the DADA classroom like this once before, and that had ended up with setting up a meeting at Hog's Head and signing her name on the top of a list that ended up in the wrong hands.

'' _Hermione!_ Stand still, would you?!''

Li certainly didn't let her short legs affect her running. Nelly wasn't very far behind – showing no sign of stress of catching up what so ever. Li, however, was running up front, an arbitrarily hand waving in the air. Soon enough she bumps her shoulder into Hermione's, stumbling forward at the sudden halt in her acceleration.

''What's the hurry?'' the short girl asks, eyes wild and bright. ''We got all the time in the world. Didn't you notice that Professor Ryle let us go 15 minutes early?''

She hadn't. Even if he had dropped them earlier then intended, time had barely ticked for Hermione back in there. "Oh, sorry. Where we off to next?"

Milo, along with several other blue Ravenclaw ties, took her on a tour through the castle, pointing to which portraits had been painted by Rembrandt, which ones to look out for before telling secrets and which ones told the best gossip. Then they got to the stairs. With a running leap, Li and Nelly were able to jump aboard an already moving staircase.

Hermione could've easily had made it, muscles already ready and prepared to push off, but Milo gripped her hand around her wrist before she could jump.

''Takes years of practise,'' she alerted. ''Can't have you falling to your death on your second day. But don't worry, you'll catch on soon.''

Milo spoke of the castle like it was some huge labyrinth, something Hermione surely didn't see it as.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but when she didn't know what to say, she closed her lips again, slowly following Milo to another stairway. Both of them held onto the railing while the rocky stair started moving, trembling slightly. Hermione did her best to fit the part of a lost and confused first year, but the castle kept distracting her. Things were like they used to be, before the war. Things where whole, steady and just the same. That didn't mean she still could see fragments of the battle though. It was as if her head forced itself to remember.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights," Milo smiled softly, making Hermione look up from where she'd stared down on her shoes. She'd tried to busy herself not thinking or remembering running through the battle, watching how she had not watched one body, but several, fall through the space in the room. _Pushed_ by Death Eaters. The grip on the railing tightened.

"No, I'm okay."

Once the stair finally arrived to the right corridor, Hermione rushed to get off. Too caught up in her own head, Hermione wasn't fast enough to catch herself stepping on a tricked step. She fell, and Milo yelped out in horror. "Oh, crap! Didn't I tell you about he trick steps? I did, didn't I? I forgot, but… some stairs come with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. You get them memorised after a while."

"I'll be more careful in the future. Promise."

"Good. Ready for Transfiguration?"

* * *

 **AN:** ***wishes i was a part of your internet gang***


	8. eight

_**The wreckage of stars — I built a world from this wreckage.**_ **Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

One day she's just there.

At first glance he didn't even take note of her, assuming it was only another cruel trick the thing inside of him was trying to play on him. It wasn't the first time Remus had imagined her blend into a crowd, or walk down the hall, just barely in reach and gone before he could catch up.

He just wished his brain held onto better things. Wished that instead of staying up for hours going over every small mistake he had made, or what he could've done differently, he could've just let the whole thing go. But he didn't. He replays their interactions again and again in his mind, finding a thousand different ways he could have held on.

The memory of her was still fresh, even now - _days_ after he had last seen her.

Sighing, Remus turned his attention back to his chemistry book, pulling on the collar of his jumper.

A mixture of physical exhaustion and paranoia was making his hands shake.

He wished he'd stopped thinking about her by now. Days had passed and still nothing. Going to the library had seemed to be a good idea, an idea that turned out to be absolute bonkers judging from how he was sure she was standing right there just a few bookshelves away, chin tilted to read the spines of books resting above.

The library was never actually a good idea, Remus decided, lowering himself even lower into the textbook. If this continued any further he might lose his head. Imagining things were never a good sign, was it?

Sitting opposite to him, Lily Evans peeked her small nose up from the newspaper in hand, eyes scanning the library.

They had spent most of their day digging through their resources, eyes skimming and marking down words every now and then, both working on overdrive. Both of them knew it would have been a smarter move to move their research somewhere closed off – but on a day like this the library was practically stranded, they let themselves avoid empty classrooms. Last time they'd accidentally spilled out a unfinished potion, naturally making the whole classroom smell like old socks for about a week.

''Hand me that parchment, will you?''

Today was one of those days everyone at Hogwarts seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. The only sign of other students were the soft susurrus of pages getting flipped in the distant passageways between the towering bookcases.

''You sure you wouldn't want the others helping us out?''

The redhead made a small gesture over their table, a suppressed grimace hiding on her features. Things weren't moving as quickly as they had hoped. Another set of hands, eyes - brain - would really help in their search for a cure. They surely could use another head in this. Their workplace was clear evidence of this.

The thick, heavy chemistry book laid open, notes flooding in every direction and small pieces of papers shifted to the side. Next to the contraband of a juice-pack and a shared bar of Honeydukes chocolate there were dried herbs crushed to a maroon powder and other potential ingredients organized and labelled and on their claimed table in the darker corners of the library. Just in case.

Outside the day had turned gloomy and grey, shadowed persistently by low hanging clouds heavy with moisture. Through the window you could catch gulls circle the water's edge and settle on the metal posts by the wall of water, still and vigilant, before flying off again.

Shifting in his seat, Remus shook his head.

''No, they're already busy enough.''

Like he was ever going to pull the lads further into this pit of hell. Peter, Sirius and James had already helped more than enough, joining him every full moon in their animal forms. It would be selfish to ask more of them. Lily wasting her time on this was already bad enough.

''You decide,'' Lily murmured. ''I'm just saying... They're your brothers. They want to help..''

''Please, Lily. Let's just forget it, okay?'' He waits a few seconds. ''Please?''

''Fine.''

Both Gryffindors turn back to work. Notes and clarifications were scribbled down with miraculous care, lines and curves filling the page at a steady speed. Lily usually had a quick handwriting, but considering the effort put into this project she took the time to slow down, not wanting the scribbles to be indecipherable.

This had been Lily's idea.

Not originally, but it was Lily who kept pulling him along to these study sessions; trying to research and make sense of their collected notes and theories. Even though neither of them was no stranger to the Muggle world, the Muggle-science was a completely different level. A new world, even. Biology and chemistry wasn't definite like Latin or the alignment of the stars and planets. It was constantly changing, always-new rules and inventions getting introduced or getting proved wrong.

Although it was a struggle, Lily insisted to incorporate the different set of knowledge into their search for a cure.

Most days were frustrating. Most days he wanted her to stop trying.

 _There's no use,_ he wanted to tell her. _Let's just stop. Give up_. But he couldn't let the words slip. Instead, trembling hands would slip. He even got so far as throwing a whole days of work into the Gryffindor fireplace when he knew she wasn't around, the precise notes turning into a burning orange before fading to black, only to then stay up all night trying to recover most of the files in case Lily would get upset with him.

Because even if he didn't want her to do any of this, to throw away her time on something as stupid and hopeless as trying to fix him – he didn't want her to hate him.

Today, however, Remus was hopeful. For once he wanted to try.

He have it a chance because he couldn't stop fumbling with his hands or trying to repaint the slightly dimmed image of the girl or wake up always wondering what had happened to her. Mostly it was the hands though. They were driving him insane, always twitching and pulling, gripping and clenching in lack of control. He was tired of this swarming feeling and he wanted to get rid of it.

Deep down he knew there was no need to bother. There was no cure for people, things, like him.

But today, for some reason, he wanted to try and find it.

And so – it was almost that Remus Lupin missed when she walked into the library, bag pulled over her shoulder and a book nestled under her arm in an awkward but practiced angle. He almost missed her, his nose pressed down as he tried to read about the latest medical discovery about Osteoporosis and Arthritis. He almost missed her because she fit so natural into the scenery. One day she was just _there_.

''Remus.''

He almost overlooked her, his hand running across the page in wild ink as he smudged some letters out as he went along. There had to be a way to shut down part of the Peripheral nervous system under a small period of time. There had to be a way to locate the demon hiding inside and kill it with a chemical that wouldn't-

He would've missed Hermione Granger if it weren't for Lily Evans.

'' _Remus_ ,'' Lily repeated, her voice stern in her attempt to catch his attention.

He only hummed a small answer, still lost in his hieroglyphic notes.

''Who is that?''

Remus doesn't look up until he's finished with his outline, eyes pulled up for a fraction of a second. ''This one was written by William N. Lipscomb,'' he pointed to the essay next to him that explained the study of structure and science of chemical bonding in the brain, ''while _this_ one is by-''

''No, no – I mean, who's _that_?'' Lily nodded over in the right direction, and Remus carefully swung around in his seat to look over his shoulder. ''She's the new Ravenclaw, isn't she?''

Still caught up in theories and statistics concerning new mechanisms for the origin and dissemination of infectious diseases, it took a while for Remus to catch up. The wolf, however, was already right there, wide awake and ready. The shaking was back, but thankfully he could hide his trembling hands under the books and papers on the table in front of him.

''Shouldn't I've been told?'' Lily goes on. ''Surely it's no TA… It would be my duty as Head Girl-''

Remus stopped listening.

She was standing in profile to them, slightly masked in the backlight of the window. Still, it was easy to trace her face and features – her brown eyes, her slightly fairer cheeks and the tiny hands lifting a stack of books while reaching for a new one. As he takes a step closer, he can actually get a hint of-

Wait.

Since when had he stood up from his chair?

Racking his brain for control, Remus slumped down into his chair, eyes still staring at the girl with an outstretched hand and the brown hair bathed in light casted by the window and the slight furrow of her brow in concentration of balance and aim. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides, rather of their own accord.

She was real.

Small pecking pokes on his bicep made Remus' focus retreat to the table. ''You know her?'' Lily asked with narrowed eyes, the forest of green nearly hidden behind her eyelashes. ''

''I- I don't know her name yet..''

Lily beamed. ''That's easy to fix,'' she assured him. ''Let's go introduce ourselves.''

All Remus wanted right now was the map. It could so easily reveal her name, no need for introductions… but he knew for a fact that James and Peter was using it at the moment, planning a possible route for the next sneak out for the next moon. He could've easily tried a simple _Accio_ , but he wasn't sure he was practiced enough to call it from this long distance – not to mention the discomforting thought of stealing something straight from his friends hands when they actually needed it.

But hell- he really needed it right now. He wanted to know her name.

If he only had her name he could call it out, and she would turn her head around at the sound of his voice, and her brown eyes would widen, and she would come to a halt, and he would be able to walk up to her before her brain would come to the conclusion that talking to him wasn't something she wanted.

''Nervous?'' Lily watched his aggrieved eyes.

''No,'' he shook his head. He felt brave. He felt ready.

Getting up from their seats – one stiff and one more gracious than ever – they slowly started to scramble together their notes and folders, the maroon powder and perfectly chopped herbs getting pushed into a small plastic container and all the books bookmarked, pinned and ready to be revisited.

They stopped dead in their tracks as someone called out Lily's name, followed by thundering footsteps. Running. Panting for air. ''LILY!'' Sirius Black booms for the third time, and a group of Hufflepuffs shush and hiss at him to be quiet for the _fifth_ time, mind you.

''Lily!'' Sirius slams his hands down onto the now naked table, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. ''Been looking all over for you.''

''What's wrong?''

''Has something happened?'' Remus asks simultaneously.

''I… Well.. This is our last year. Can you believe that? Last year, folks. And time is ticking away. We're on our last year and we're not even enjoying it. So I had this idea. Brilliant idea. What's that saying again? Time is money. Yes, well, here, time is wasted. According to my calculations, most of our free time is spent wasted on stupid stuff. You with me? Peter's not, but he'll jump on the train once he gets the memo. As I was saying… We boycott the Great Hall and-''

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, slowly opening them again.

And Sirius was _still_ jabbering.

It wasn't often that you could see him ramble like this. Usually, the only thing Remus could think of was that usually whenever Sirius acted like this (like a total buffoon, waving his hands and letting his voice run up and down in pitch like a plunging roller-coaster) he was hiding something. Never would Sirius naturally animate his hands in this flapping motion. It was forced and too big. Too clumsy – and really distracting.

Grimacing, the redhead leisurely placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. ''Slow down.''

''-nice picnics… Oh… I apologize.''

''Now, let me get this straight. You just ran here because of a bet?'' Lily tried to tie the words together. Of course she assumed Sirius was acting like this because of a bet. How couldn't she? For once, Sirius and James weren't glued together. There was no James. Only Sirius. Which meant James was up to something.

''Bet?''

''James made you run in here and-''

''Huh? Uh… yes. Ha! Got me. This was a bet. James made me do a bet. Bet accomplished.''

Remus scoffed. ''You're an idiot.'' He recesses for a second. ''Isn't James with Peter?''

With an arm swinging around Lily's shoulders, Sirius troubled and stressed face turned into one big, toothy grin. He actually looked proud of himself. ''Idiot?'' He almost makes it sound foreign in his mouth. ''Keep telling yourself that,'' Sirius said, his eyes flying up to watch the ceiling above. ''I'm a brilliant-''

''Evil,'' Lily interjected.

''- _brilliant_ mastermind.''

Pushing his arm and the clutching hand away from her, Lily shook her head. ''You interrupted us. Some of us actually has work to do, you know?'' She crossed her arms over her chest. ''Something tells me you got stuff to do. Have you even gotten started on the Astronomy project yet?''

''Oh come on. Live a little.''

Biting his lip to supress the giggle from escaping. ''Said the dead man.''

''Actually, I'm taking a closer look on that signal my old man Jerry Ehman got.'' Sirius fell into a suspicious glance, strictly formal and work-related now. ''Figured I could get some help from the Muggle expert. You believe in aliens, Evans?''

''You know that I don't take Astronomy.''

''Any idea what 6EQUJ5 could mean?'' He looks on the verge to fall into his trained and newly flawless charm, probably about to tell her how much he has missed her face lately or something stupid like that, but he doesn't.

Instead, Sirius lets his grey eyes scan the room, as if checking that the coast was clear. Then, acting as if he hadn't just ran into here like the world was ending, he shrugs his shoulders.

''Let's go grab something to eat.''

He doesn't wait for an answer. He starts pulling Lily out, assuming Remus would follow. He did. But once again, it was Lily who took control of the situation. The bubble of all concentration and focus Sirius had pulled to glow around him, she popped. The spell was broken and when she spoke, Remus' hands started to shake again.

''We were in the middle of something. Did you know we have a new student?''

Judging from the way Sirius visually stiffened like caught in the middle of an act, he did.

Black, sharp brows furrowed. ''New student?'' he echoed gullibly.

''Yes! We were about to go and introduce ourselves. You can come if you promise not to embarrass yourself,'' Lily purposed, adjusting the strap of her bag having it digging into her shoulder. Without a word, Remus pulls it away from her, silently offering to carry it for her. His movements are just as stiff as Sirius – because Lily's words sprung a memory to life again. Hopefully no one was paying attention to his hands.

On his tiptoes, Sirius throws a glance around the library. ''She is _here_?''

''Yes! Right—'' Lily goes to point a finger over to the big window, ''there… She was right there!''

 _Was_.

She was _right there_. And now she was gone. But compared to every other time that Remus would've let his hope of seeing her again crumble and float away in small dust particles, Remus held on to the belief of seeing her again. Because this time he wasn't played off as crazy or stupid. Lily had seen her too. And if you could trust someone on this earth, it was Lily Evans. She would never go crazy and fall into hallucinations mid-day.

Lily was a quick problem solver, sensing no difficulty in the disappearance of the new girl. ''We'll catch up. It's about lunchtime, innit?''

''Yeah, sorry, not a good idea,'' Sirius shook his head. ''No, no. Very bad idea. Definitely not.''

''What?''

''Well… She's a new student, right? She's probably very shy. Don't want to scare her off in the middle of the Great Hall, now would you? Didn't think so. So, here's the plan. We go back to home base, check Peter's _hidden_ ,'' he says this in quotation marks, ''snack storage and we have an all good, non-disrupted meal up in the Gryffindor Tower and let the poor girl settle before bombing her with questions and stuff.''

''But what about-''

Sirius waved a hand, as if to brush away an annoying fly. ''I'm sure there will be a welcome party accommodated. Let's go.''

Maybe it was for the best, this way, Remus contemplated.

Although it was pretty clear his friend was improvising the plan in the moment, it did have some logic to it. In seconds Remus' brain played up a scene for him; Sirius and Lily throwing the doors open to the Great Hall, Remus tagging along behind them, only no longer human, but monster. While the whole school screamed, panicked and ran, the wolf would push every single human away like small nothings to create enough space to break into a sprint. A lunging run right towards the girl, teeth barking and dripping with blood.

Remus shook his head.

The scene was impossible, imaginative and most importantly false. The full moon wasn't for another two weeks days, but he still couldn't take it. Control. Peace. Calm. That was what he wanted, no matter how tempting and tantalizing it was to run after her. The last thing he would expect was for _her_ to run to _him_.

* * *

"No, no, no no. I _told_ you. _Twice_! You _can't_ be here!"

Glaring at the Ravenclaw, who had over the past two days made his life a lot more difficult, Sirius did everything in his power not to hex her. Which was hard, because she really scratched on the surface of a very frustrated down ticking bomb, and he really wasn't having it today. Seeing her here, in this (his!) corridor, did it for him.

Though, on second thought, challenging her for a duel probably wasn't the wisest decision, bearing in mind that this Ravenclaw had stayed upright for at least 10 minutes while duelling a bloody _Auror_. It was unheard of, and quite terrifying actually. So no – breaking out in a duel at this exact time was going to pass.

He watched as Hermione Granger inhaled, just about to take a leap and say something stupid probably – but he was quicker.

Grabbing onto her arm, all sound was cut short. Sirius pulled her far enough to step in behind one of the old statues, now securely hiding the two of them from any Gryffindor on their way to the Fat Lady's portrait. Sighing, Sirius muttered one last warning.

"I'm not joking around, Granger, you can't be here."

"I don't see how else I am supposed to find you."

He crossed his arms, intentionally showing her that he had his wand ready just in case she got any ideas that he wasn't being serious about this whole thing. "What do you want?" he asked, silver eyes narrowing down at the features not stolen by the shadows.

"I have to ask you something."

He shook his head in disapproval.

"Nope, I think notes works just fine for you and I." After all, after getting her note, asking for his help in staying clear from one Remus Lupin, he had agreed to just that. It was a win situation for him; the scary girl who knew more hexes than his mother had was willingly avoiding one of his mates. He couldn't have asked for more. Then again, from the way she was acting, it felt as if he hadn't heard the full deal. He hadn't signed up to be her inside contact. And definitely not a bloody fulltime-friendship. No, he would only keep _his_ end of the bargain: keep Moony away from the new girl, or rather the other way around - that was it. End of their contract. Over and out.

"Not that I don't… I… my roommates have been walking around making a lot of announcements about me as of lately, and although I know Remus is mostly with you and Potter and Pettigrew, I just noticed today that there's a lot more people involved." The way she bit her lip made it seem like this was a problem. "I got too close today–"

"You talked to him?!"

" _No_!" she close to yelled, eyes widening in shock before both of her hands shot up to cover her mouth from making any more sound. Smart of her.

"What do you mean with 'getting close' then?"

"I… I mean that… uh.. Henry… Henry Edger-something said that his friend could help me out with some directions, and it just so happens that Remus was there… I was able to stay in the clear, though, so it's fine. He's fine, I'm fine, but… I don't know, a heads up would be nice next time..?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "A heads up? Of what? That Remus has _other_ friends? What were you expecting?" When she didn't answer, Sirius shook his head in disbelief. "Are you just now realizing how difficult of a task we have right here? Wake up, would you? Remus is like a damn magnet. Not that he acknowledges it all the time, but he is."

Hermione made a pained expression, her hand going myoclonic for a moment until she forced it to stop. "I didn't know."

"Well I'm telling you right now. And you're on your own with this dilemma, Granger," Sirius finally closed. "I just agreed to this because I don't like you, and I don't want Remus to go all nuts again."

" _Black_ ," she said his name in stern, steady tone, brown eyes locked up. "I need your help with this."

"And I still need you to stay off this floor," he shot back.

This time it was her time to mirror his posture, arms crossing in disapproval. "No matter how tempting it is, I can't stay locked up my dorm all day," she hissed fiercely. "You can't expect me to avoid the Seventh Floor all together."

"This damn corridor then."

They had a good staring competition between them until finally she caved and gave in, jaw set and teeth gritted.

" _Fine_."

A sigh falling from his lips, Sirius feels good enough to drop his arms. At least he'd won that battle. Small steps. Small steps… "You're impossible. Really. It's killing me."

She didn't meet his gaze, eyes falling down to the stone floor below. "And you're an idiot... won't see you around, I suppose..?" she started backing away from him. And although he never admitted it to himself, he did feel odd to see her go so quickly.

"Whatever, Granger," he called out after her.

Sirius let himself stay still for a moment, only making small movements to adjust his outfit, his hair and shifting his weight from one leg to the other one. He really couldn't see why on earth this girl would go through so much detail to avoid one of his best mates, and although it concerned and upset him that someone would take those big leaping steps to stay as far away from someone like Remus Lupin – one of the most precious people known to Sirius Black – he couldn't let himself run after the answer. Because he told himself it wasn't worth it. Was important in all of this was that as long as she stayed away, things would stay the same. Remus would be fine and would eventually go back to his normal safe, and the Ravenclaw would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Too caught up with his own dilemmas, Sirius didn't notice that someone had snuck up on him.

"Who's Granger?"

Sirius swung around, one eyebrow raised. "Hmm?" he hummed innocently, only to then one second yelp out in pain as the red apple that James Potter had sent flying through the air in his direction hit him straight above his heart. Too late to catch the apple, the fruit dropped to the floor, rolling on the stone floor, echoes surrounding it as it hit the wall.

"Don't see any ghosts roaming around, so that leaves you being the one who called out a name, right?"

Sirius picked the apple up, oscillating it between his hands. "I did?"

" _Yes_ ," the Head Boy exaggerated with a stern stare, lips scrunched up in a tight line as he sucked on his lower lip in deep thought. "And you're going to tell me all about it," he went on, grabbing onto the grey sleeve of Sirius shirt. "I told Peter we would meet downstairs." That last part was a hint – thought Sirius wasn't sure if it was a hint to hurry up and explain who Granger was before they reached Peter, or if it was to wait until they did.

Polished shoes slammed down on the staircase as they descended down down down towards where Peter was waiting, and although there were others around them, Sirius decided it wouldn't hurt to give James the full name.

"You saw her in Defence class. The one who I was throwing nuts at? Her name is Hermione Granger and she's a seventh year. A Ravenclaw."

"And she's special becaauuse…?"

"No… well yes… but no. No, _no_. She's special in the way that she's annoying. Not that I don't know very much about her, we've barely spoken," Sirius shrugs, hoping to Merlin James was busy enough not to catch his double negative and how his words wasn't making any sense at the time. "Basic line is that she asked me for help around the castle, and, the gentlemen I was, I helped out."

Wrinkles that had yet to smooth out on James forehead only grew in population. "Right..." he muttered, eyes narrowed for a second before widening, lips grinning wide. Sirius followed Prong's line of sight, catching Peter at the end of the hall waving up at them.

Before they got within earshot, James pulled closer to Sirius, words slipped in hushed tone. "You're a terrible liar, Padfoot, sometimes it's sad to watch."

Completely unaware to how Sirius bit back one of those words McGonagall would've taken points for if she'd heard them uttered, Peter smiled broadly at both of them. He still had some of the tomato soup lurking at the corner of his mouth, some on his cheek – but from a distance it just looked like the regular acne, so it passed.

"Are we still on?" Peter asked.

And with on, he meant Hogsmeade. They had planned sneaking out tonight, taking one of the hidden tunnels they'd discovered lead straight to the village just a few minutes away. If they ran, that is.

"On like donkey kong, buddy," James confirmed with a grin, all traces of wrinkles and tight lines of suspicion completely erased. "Is Moony running late?"

"He said he'd walk Julie to the Hufflepuff common room, so he'll be here any second," Peter offered, rolling back and forth on his heels and toes while tapping his fingers against his freshly pressed trousers.

The three animagi fell silent; all three of them thinking of how close and weird the fourth member had been acting lately. Of course they were supportive of Remus actually going for the girl, but the werewolf didn't like talking about it whenever they brought it up, so it was left at that. Awkward and short.

"So… speaking of the _ladies_ …" Sirius rolled his eyes, while James coughed with a pained expression beside him, probably worrying where he was going to take this. For once, though, Sirius didn't pest on the heavy heart-breaking subject of Lily Evans.

"What happened to Suzy with the biscuits?" he asked instead.

Peter let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeeeahh that's never going to happen."

"But you said you were going to ask her out, remember?"

"And I almost did!" Arms flew out in exaggeration. "I _was_. And it all went to shit. I was on my way up to her when her friend… I don't know her name yet, but they're pretty much always together and… well, anyway, I was walking up to them, right? And Suzy was busy with her flower crown, but her friend sees me, and then she… she did the finger over the throat, you know? So yeah, naturally, I got the hell out of there. And there's that."

Someone made an audible gulp.

"… she was threatening to cut your throat?" James asked with a frown, taking serious offence to this theoretical threat. He could deduct points for that – or more importantly, he could and would give a good full week of detentions to whoever this girl was.

Somewhere in-between his story and James question, Peter had now turned into a scary shade of white, eyes suddenly panicked. "Great support," he wheezed out. "Thanks for the help. I'll be traumatized for the rest of the year thanks to that daily reminder."

"No, that's just code saying you came at a bad time, mate," Sirius patted Peter's arm, ease spreading from his hand to Peter's stiff shoulders. "I'm not usually wrong about things-" James laughed. "-but if someone bakes you a whole box of homemade biscuits, they're usually pretty mad about you."

"I'll survive without her stupid raisin biscuits."

"You might, but what about the rest of us?"

Peter slapped Sirius hand away from where it had now glued itself to his shoulder. "So you're saying that I should ask Suzy out, all in the hopes for more of her baked goods?"

It was just around this time that the last and final Marauder decided to join the group, ears peaked and eyes wide in awe. He was on his way of saying that he'd never taken Peter – out of all people – to start a relationship with someone only for personal game, no matter how small the gain actually was. (In this case, biscuits?) But just as he was about to open his mouth, sore and red from a dark abuse just moments prior, he refrained. It would be hypocritical of him to say anything like that, him acting out on the most selfish actions as of lately, so he kept quiet, three small nods to each animagi offered as he blended into the audience of the conversation.

Without much more than a glance, James produced a red apple from his coat pocket, throwing it at Remus before turning back to Peter.

"Look," James took a deep breath. "Padfoot is just using the biscuits as… as a metaphor of sorts… Because all three, hopefully four, of us all like Suzy. Just go for it. Only rule is that you _don't_ do it out just in the hopes of getting us biscuits, because that's not what this is about."

"Never has been," Sirius joined in before turning to Remus. "Right, Moony?"

"I've only heard about 2% of this conversation but as far as I'm concerned, I'm all with James on this one."

Peter shuffled on his feet. "Yeah… whatever… I'll think about it..."

"Great!" James smiled. "And since apparently it's one of those days in which we all dream ourselves away to the clouds of brilliant witches, may I just take the time to say that although Peter probably soon enough has the shiest Gryffindor on a date and Sirius over here gets whatever he's got going on with the new girl out on the table and Remus learn the importance of protection with Miss Julie Hufflepuff Friol, let me just say that I will not take one of the team and go out with a Slytherin."

Peter shook his head. "This isn't a bloody bingo, James. And you have Lily."

Sirius looked very upset over what he was accused of, but didn't say anything. Remus did. "There's a new girl?" he asked, attention peaking to its highest ever since joining the group of friends that afternoon.

"Yeah, a Ravenclaw."

Sirius shook his head, intensifying both in volume and space as he pushed James out of the spotlight. "A _boring_ Ravenclaw. Nothing to get all too excited about, Moony," he said in a serious tone, thick eyebrows knitted together, daring him to challenge him on this.

Which, naturally, Remus Lupin did.

"What makes you the expert?"

"Because… Because I'm great at reading people…" he paused, struggling for a moment before a wide smile fit to his lips. "Like I, for example, know how you really could use some chocolate right now."

James scoffed at the bad transition. "Get in line, mate."

Hands clapped together after a small huddle, the four boys finally settled on their heist towards Hogsmeade. The cloak and scramble of knuts were already packed, line up updated and schedule tightened. They'd done this a hundred times before; a quick in and out, invisible hands levitating the money onto the desk along with a thank you note before returning back to the dimly lit tunnel with a heavy amount of chocolate and sweets before safely returning to their dorm just in time for dinner and the study group for Advanced Potions.

Except that's not really how the whole thing plans out on this particular day.

It's around 1AM that Peter jolts up from his crouched stance over the map, shadows casted over his eyes from the _lumos_ charm he's holding. He looks wild, like a professor who'd just made a breakthrough.

"I knew it! She's busted, this time."

James peaked down at Peter from where he was standing, eyes tired. "If you're about to tell me the gosspip about who's snogging who, I'm not interested."

"No, the girl! The Ravenclaw, Hermione Granger? She's not in her dorm. S-S-She's on the third floor, and… and she's with Mulciber's gang of Slytherins."

While James looks worried, Peter fidgets between feeling scared and excited from his theory… then there's Sirius, who for some reason actually looks _annoyed_. Like he can't believe he has to deal with this right now.

Sirius tore the map away from Peter. "She's _what_?!"

* * *

Most people are sleeping, unconsciously wrestling their blankets and pillows, some muttering, some snoring, some smiling, some letting tears slip down their cheeks after yielding to a dark dream pledged to the night. Nearly everyone is sleeping. Everyone was _supposed_ to be sleeping. Not Hermione though.

She was on her way back from an unsuccessful study in time travel. Trying to find a way back. She'd put her insomnia to use and spent most of her night in the Room of Requirement, digging through the jungle of piled books and warded chests of drawers in case she could find anything useful. She hadn't.

Maybe it was how her vision had blurred out, or how her dizzy head felt like it was about to explode from homesickness, but the moment she ran into the Slytherin with the dark long hair and cold eyes, she snapped. Just like when she'd seen Peter that first time. Only this time it was worse. Because standing in front of her was Rodolphus Lestrange.

"You shouldn't be here," he growled at her.

"I-I-I… I was lost."

"Not likely," he said, and Hermione watched in horror as his hand reached out for her. "I'm gonna show you what we do with witches like you here at Hogwarts." His pale veiny hand was close. Hermione could hear Dean Thomas throw out fits of cries from the battle, anger and grief, all while holding a limp form that had to Seamus. Rodolphus Lestrange had _torn_ Seamus face away. And now he was standing here, just about to reach her.

She couldn't let him touch her. People like him were poisonous to the touch. She just couldn't.

Things move very fast the moment Hermione throws in the punch. First of all, the merciless murder in front of her falls to the cold castle floor with a thump, crying out in pain as he curls up. She's just about to run but in mere seconds she's surrounded. Black robes with green ties. They're closing a circle around her, shutting her and a stocky Rodolphus Lestrange in.

"You!" one of them roars, and Hermione looks up just in time to see one of the tall Slytherin's storm up to her, eyes filled with fury as he staggered up to her.

"Don't touch me. D-Don't get any closer."

"You don't get to tell us what to do," the tall boy hissed, grabbing onto her forearm, but Hermione had already filled her entire system with adrenaline. She felt strong. She felt ready to fight all of them. Her fist connects with her face, and while he stumbles back, Hermione feels bile rise up her throat. There was blood tricking down the Slytherin's nose, but her hand as well.

She looks tiny compared to the rest of them.

This was a bad idea.

Lestrange has his arms wrapped around his torso, finally catching his breath enough to let grumbled curses fall from his mouth. The tall boy with the stormy eyes has his hand pressed up against his nose, a hissing noise filtering through the sound of echoing steps and fire burning. When he tilts his head back, his breathing gurgles, drenched in blood. Next to him there's a greasy mop of hair along with a familiar long nose, his hand reached out to press his friend back into the crew, stopping them from attacking. He only lets one of them enter the circle; a muscular boy breaking away from the hovering squad, an arm pulling Lestrange up from the cold floor and away from the comforting fatal position he had curved himself into. The moment he's up he's stiff as a plank, pushed back into the crew again.

Stormy-eyes give up stopping the nosebleed, letting the blood flow freely as he stares Hermione down. He looks like a beast. ''Do you have any idea who you just hit?''

Chest heaving she opens her mouth to answer but no words come out.

''You fool, to think that you can sneak around here and do things like that. You. Do. Not. Hit. Us. You do not even look our direction, got it, Birdy?'' the boy speaks, still holding his position in the centre, his hand falling down from his red nose. It was easy to identify him, even with the shadows playing over his features.

At least five wands were pointed and aimed her direction, and Remus heart started to burn.

This was bad.

''Don't call me that,'' she snapped, only to suddenly jerk her left arm straight up to her face, fingers slapping against her cheek, a silent hex. ''HEY!'' Before she could throw in another punch at herself she was suddenly grabbed and shoved against the wall by the the same boy who had pulled Lestrange up from the cradling position on the floor. '' _Get your hands off me!_ ''

It is the moment that everyone can hear the loud thud of her body smashed against the stone wall that makes some of the Slytherin's jump out of their skin, but no one says anything. Everyone is still and frozen – stunned with watching the girl. Her nostrils are flaring and her fists pumping and behind all those curls she's racking for any hexes or jinxes that would hurt, but no one moves.

"Leave me alone.''

The Slytherin holding her tries to collect her as she twists under his grasp, but she keeps struggling. He pops the back of her head into the wall again, hard enough to make her wince, some hair falling away from its tight bun.

The voice filtered through blood speaks. ''Alistair, _move_ …. I said move, Wilkes."

The order is easy and effective, and soon enough she's faced with the leader of the gang again. He waits for her protests to quiet down before speaking.

''Do you know me?'' he asks.

She takes a moment to consider this, searching her brain for a name to go with the face, but she finds nothing. The features are similar to one of the Death Eaters that haunted her dreams and friends, but she didn't know him. ''No,'' she shakes her head no. ''No, I don't.'' Her throat bobbled a little when she tries to gulp down the bile that had surfaced sometime during her shouting.

''Well, I am the guy who tells you there are guys you hit and there are guys you can't. Now, Lestrange is not quite a guy you can't hit, but it's almost a guy you can't hit, so I'm fucking ruling on it right now: _You don't hit him_ , understand that?'' Words pierce like venom, the command sharp like glass. "Owen Mulciber. That's a name you should've learned by now."

She wanted to spit in his face, and she was about to, but then something in the corner of her caught her focus. At first she couldn't make them out, the three, no four, figures closing in from their hiding in the shadows.

Up front there was the Head Boy, smiling sheepishly as he fold a piece of fabric back into the duffle bag hanging over his shoulder. It's already stuffed with illegal, stolen books, so he's quick to close it before anyone could catch the titles of any spine sticking out. The map was quickly crunched into his breast pocket all while the four of them approached the Slytherin gang with their wands pointed.

''Great turn up, folks,'' James smiles broadly, watching as all heads turn his direction. ''But we've heard enough and I think it's time this party ended and everyone go back and have a long, good night of rest.''

The moment everyone gets distracted, James watch the Ravenclaw girl huff as she tried to worm out from the locked stance. It doesn't help much. Owen Mulciber was towering over her without any problem with his broad chest and shoulders – making her even more trapped when he takes a step closer to her, closing the space between them. It was almost like he was trying to block her from view from the new arrivals.

''Stay out of this, _Potter_ ,'' he raises his voice, his eyes still locked down on her.

''This is our business,'' Philip Avery ricochets. ''We deal with this.''

Sirius snorted. ''Wasn't aware we needed an invite.''

"The points I'll deduct will put Slytherin so far behind the House Cup you won't be back in the game for years. And as I am Head Boy, actually, it kind of is our business.'' James goes to scratch the back of his head with his free hand, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he purse his lips. ''I think that it would be best if you drop this small disagreement and just go back to your smelly holes in the sewers.''

Sirius takes a step closer, his eyes narrowed. ''Right where you belong.''

''Watch it, Black.''

It was barely noticed by anyone, but Sirius did notice how one shadow in the crowd of snakes suddenly flinched at the name. He wasn't tall enough to see, but from that second he knew Regulus was hiding somewhere behind the crowd of black cloaks and stiff arms raised to fire at command.

''Let her go.''

Alistair Wilkes laughs in genuine amusement.

It's the first words Remus has spoken ever since walking up to the scene, and even though Mulciber blocks her from view, the girl lets out a faint gasp.

''Remus?''

Her voice is so tiny his heart actually aches for her. His hands were shaking again, and for once he knew what would make them stop. If his hands would just wrap around the fabric stretched between Mulcibers shoulder blades… if he could pull Mulciber away from her, they could calm. If they could shield her, or even as much as only getting to graze her skin, they would never shake again.

Mulciber doesn't listen.

Instead, his wand goes to press into her neck, a slow smile curving on his lips. ''I see you've already found where you belong. I'm not surprised to choose this group of scum,'' he smirks, and it's so violating and sickening a growl actually falls from the Gryffindor behind him. ''I don't know you. Nobody does. And that raises… _questions_ ,'' he says slowly, ignoring the rushing steps and how Avery and Remus now had each other at wandpoint. "And the stunt you pulled tonight... Not very wise of you to catch our eye. You'd do best to keep a low profile. But it's too late for that. We'll watch you. And your parents. We'll watch your history."

''Drop it,'' Remus said lowly, but the wand only pressed harder against her neck.

Meanwhile, Mulciber keeps his eyes mainly focused on the girl. He's whispering to her. ''You won't be able to get away.''

''Stop.''

''Stop what?'' Mulciber asks, leaning away from Hermione's ear with an innocent taunt, like he saw nothing wrong in the scene.

No matter how badly she wanted to break the eye contact and just run away, she couldn't move. She was stuck. Paralyzed under him and his words. And just as much as she knew this, Owen Mulciber knew it too. He could see her slowly crumble under his intense stare. There was nothing soft between them.

Then, a threat, solid and harsh.

''You make one more mistake like attacking me or my friends, and I will forget about the rules, okay? We will _wreck_ you. Got it?'' He doesn't wait for an answer. The moment the warning is finished he takes a step back. The moment he does, a heavy breath she's been holding in was released from her cramped lungs. ''And you… I told you to stay away from her.''

Mulciber new target, Lestrange, takes a step back. ''Oh... I was only… she was…'' And although it was almost inaudible, Mulciber's hand snap back at the bruised Rodolphus Lestrange, eyes filled with venom.

''What? _Oh_ , fucking _what_? We _do not_ have time for this.'' And before anyone could as much as blink, a wand was flicked and Lestrange's face was demolishes in a pained blow. ''Do not test me. She's off limits until further notice.'' The last order was directed to the entire group. Then, one last glance at the girl and the Gryffindors staring with wide eyes, he adds: ''Good luck.''

Once Avery's wand drop to his side and he falls back under Mulcibers lead of the gang, Remus is free to rush up to the girl. Only once he starts to move, she's already crashing into him. She ran to him, and it's so unexpected he overrides all confusion. He just holds her as she catches her breath, and once she does her hands start to flutter around like escaped butterflies. Though, but before Remus could ask any questions or check for wounds, Sirius was pushing his way through to drop down next to her.

''What the hell, Granger? I _told_ you.'' Hands go to run through his dark hair, lips moving too fast. ''I told you to stay away from them. What _happened_?'' he went on, frantically trying to pull hair, clothes, pull _himself_ together while simultaneously trying to sort the problem at hand.

''I punched him.''

She says it like it's something completely reasonable. Like it's justified and natural. And usually Sirius would've agreed, but for some reason he was still pissed. For what reason, Remus still couldn't connect the dots to. He hadn't caught up with them yet.

''I told you to stay away from him. From them.''

''I know.''

''Pretty sure that's the same as saying you're weren't supposed to go around _punching_ them!''

''Says who?'' she asked, eyes glued and staring down at the hand resting in Remus'. The blood was starting to clot, which was a good sign, she wouldn't have to seek any medical attention. It would heal by itself. No risk of scar or bruise. ''They're not some kind of supreme.''

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. Like he's dealing with a real nuthead.

''Says _him_. Mulciber says. _Merlin_ says, as far as you're concerned.''

Someone clears their throat. "At least this proves it. That she's not one of them, I mean. That she's good. And safe… If you ask me, she should've kicked him in the nuts while she was at it,'' Peter fills in from behind them. ''He's a real mess, Lestrange. Scares the living daylights out of everyone.''

Sirius stroked his imaginary beard in deep thought. ''Even if Pete's right, you were supposed to stay away, remember?'' He was still on high-alert, but his words had slowed their pace, the stress gone but still coated in his grey eyes. ''You can't go near them again,'' he tried to sound authoritative, even though he knew she would never rely on his directions.

''He deserved it.''

A savage smirk plays on Remus raw lips, bitten to many times to be considered soft anymore.

James and Peter's anxious eyes scanned over the idle hands and sad expression, careful to kneel next to their friend and the odd Ravenclaw.

''What was it about?'' the shorter one asked very carefully, scared she might would get a re-lapse to the last time they had seen each other. She didn't. In fact, she was slowly relaxing under Remus squeezing fingers, something going soft in her tired eyes.

"Stupid people running around at night.''

''You call me stupid?'' Peter mocked. ''And if I don't recall correctly, you're right here too. You're just as bad.''

''I was talking about Lestrange,'' she clarified.

''Why did you punch them?"

''I didn't mean to, but…'' she shrugs her shoulders, nose quickly getting crouched up. Her fingers slowly going over the bumps of her knuckles. The blood had dried by now. It was starting to look black. ''He's a _monster_ , and then when Lestrange was down, Mulciber got in the way so I punched him as well. Horrible being,'' she says with voice ice cold, and Remus shies away at the word.

 _She was wrong._

Monster was a familiar word to Remus: because he was the _definition_ of it. The thought made the thing inside of him twist and curl, but for once not snap. He was thankful for that, already having enough trouble keeping his heartbeat steady. It was painful knowing that no matter how bad the sturdy Pureblood might be, he would _never_ be on the same level of bad as Remus himself. _He_ was the monster here, not Lestrange.

He was temped to tell her to stay away from monsters – but he couldn't. He didn't want her to leave again.

Remus had almost found enough courage to let his fingers curl around hers when the stillness was cut off, glass getting scattered and words spiking through the tranquillity with stress.

Jumping to his feet, Sirius slammed his hands together. ''I'll tell you what it's about. It's about time we get out of here.'' Remus could feel a hand patting on his shoulder in a sign to get up, but he couldn't. Physically couldn't move away from her. ''Moony let's _go_. Mulciber will have Flinch come running down here in seconds. We need to move.''

"He's right," Hermione nodded.

"Good luck staying away from Flinch."

* * *

 **AN: ATTENTION: I need attention.**


	9. nine

**AN: in what world would anyone give up a job in paris for ross geller**

* * *

In her five days at Hogwarts, Hermione had so far only spent two in her Ravenclaw bed, sleeping.

This night wasn't very different. She wasn't in her bed. She really shouldn't have, but she did take some pride in knowing that her talent of escaping the Hogwarts caretaker hadn't subsided, even in this time era.

Only idiots use the Great Hall's huge oak doors to get out onto the grounds, so they take one of the schools smaller, easier to open exits and find themselves out on the sloping lawn, the stars high in the sky and the air surprisingly warm. They haven't spoken since they left the common room, for fear of being overheard by Filch or Mrs Norris, but once they're outside Hermione musters up enough courage to break the silence.

''I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be the perfect students.''

''We _are_ perfect students,'' Nelly insisted, offering Hermione a sly grin, turning slightly to look up at the looming castle behind them.

Li shuffled on her feet. ''Well… either that, or we're the worst. There's nothing in-between.''

''Still hate rules though,'' Nelly chuckled. In her opinion, rules always get in the way of creation and letting things flow; meaningless lists of directions prevent and keep people from accomplishing their goals. Or in this case, skipping curfew.

It was odd, Hermione decided, how the rules she had valued so highly ever since she was 11 always seemed to slip out of her grasp. She was always pulled into things. Since she's arrived at Hogwarts she had so far broken at least three of them – two of her three nights spent out of bed.

This was one of those nights, and for once, Hermione was happy with the company. At least she wasn't alone.

"They really need to invest in some better security," Milo laughed, her short fingers pulling Hermione along. Just like the improvised sneak-out had stunned Hermione, the fact that the prefect was the most eager about the whole thing surprised her the most. ''Then again, no one, well, except Flitch, is complaining.''

''Guys, wait up!''

Hermione turns around to see Li squeeze through the tight gap between two rocks. Li was the shortest of them all; which did cause some difficulty for her to keep up to the quick pacing Milo was pulling – Li's legs not long enough to keep up the pace with the rest of them. Once she made it up to the rest of them, a hand grasped onto Nelly's for balance. Nelly quickly yanked away.

"No way. I will not give you a piggyback like last time. 'S not my fault you're short."

Li chose to ignore Nelly's comment, turning to Milo instead. ''I can't believe we're doing this again, brings back memories, doesn't it?'' she says with a toothy smile, looking like it was burst into giggles any second from excitement. ''I mean yes, there are a few minor modifications, of course, but it will have to work. And this time Rose won't mess up the charms, right Rose?''

The girl nodded. "Yeah, Dex and I have been practicing."

They still hadn't told Hermione what charms they were talking about, or what the exact plans for what was happening yet. There had been whispering, scheming and planning – and now a backpack packed with god knows what swung over Nelly's shoulder as they swagger down the hill of the glowing castle.

And so, Milo, Nelly, Li, Rose and Hermione ventured out into the night.

Every Ravenclaw except for Nelly who was busy carrying the backpack and a big cardboard box to her chest were walking with tight grips on their wands and once Milo told them to they all whispered a soft _Lumos_ to avoid tripping over uneven ground, slippery moss and veiny roots. They move quickly though, because they're still out in the open view of the castle's many windows, and getting caught is most definitely not on their to do list tonight.

Hermione had her theories of what was going on. She could've easily reached out for any of their thoughts, but she didn't. Legilimency didn't come as easily as occlumency. But she didn't feel threatened in any way, so she let the night play out, her heartbeats steady; still calm, stubbornly beating. Of course she knew which direction they were heading - she just hoped they would make a stop before they would reach the Forbidden Forest, because even though Hermione had met a handful of beasts in her life, the dark depth of the trees would never be welcoming to her.

''Did you remember to bring the book, Milo?''

Hermione wasn't sure who asked the question, still familiar with the girls voices just yet.

''Of course I did.''

''You sure? Because you forgot to-''

''It was one time!'' Milo defended, shadows cast over her thick eyebrows pulling together. ''Besides, didn't we check the bag two, no, three times before leaving the common room?'' Hermione smiled. They had. _Four_ times. They hadn't been very keen on having to go back inside once leaving, afraid the bronze eagle would give them one of the paradox riddles just to mess with them.

Within minutes they're standing by the lakes edge, the water lapping gently at the shore and lights from the castle glancing off the dark surface. It looks a bit more inviting during the day.

''Hermione Granger!''

Hermione turns away from the water, back to the four Ravenclaws who now stood on a straight line-up with their hands on their backs, eyes wide with excitement.

"Y-y-yes?"

''You're here to embark on the joy of joining the family of Rowena Ravenclaw. We, your fellow, trusty, noble roommates, are here to guide you through the initiation,'' Li speaks in a clear and loud voice, almost too big for such a tiny person like her.

''Every step of the way, grasshopper'' Nelly adds quickly.

Clapping her hands, Li raise one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Somewhere in-between a Chateau Petrus 1945, getting blue dust and glitter pressed onto her cheeks, repeating oaths and mottos under the soft piano tunes of Éric Alfred Satie (to this day, she still couldn't figure out how they had managed to play his music out of thin air that night), Hermione finds herself in the middle of a translation of late Latin poetry and discussing Greek gods. By the end of it all – Hermione had soared through the sky like an eagle before diving straight into the ink black lake, only to resurface her clothes and hair black like raven.

On their way back, Hermione feels like the excitement of a child. While she skips up the steps and the steep hill like nothing could bring her down, the rest of the Ravenclaw's sink down behind her.

"Please, Nelly?"

"I already told you, no!"

"Peh- _phlease_?" Li wheezed out.

Nelly shook her head. ''No it's weird and I'm tired.''

''Maybe its less weird because I'm calling it out.''

Nelly chuckled, waves of brown hair falling over his eyes. It was distracting. ''Doesn't make it less weird.''

Hermione don't know how Li did it, but somehow Nelly ended up caving (like she apparently usually did under the short girl's stubborn words) and carried her and the heavy backpack all the way back.

Once they reach the castle again, they manage to wake up at least seven different paintings on their way up to the Ravenclaw Tower. The memory is vague and Hermione is pretty sure she could still hear the piano playing Ragtime-parade in the background, the notes bobbing up and down on the register, but somewhere in the blurry corridor, Hermione remembers a old lady calling out _league of whippersnappers_ as they sneak past, no level of stealth what so ever.

The Bloody Baroon gave them a cold look as he hovered past them, but he didn't say anything.

It's something of a mystery how she manages to drop into sleep so quickly after the day she's had.

Hermione doesn't remember reaching her bed – she doesn't remember the four-poster bed or the blue drapes closing around her. The only thing she remembers is Remus Lupin helping her solve a riddle, a short goodbye and then the moment he's gone she's thrown into someone else's arms.

It's nothing like what she's used to. She's used to simple dreams. She's trained and used with diaphanous things, delicate flashes of colour and sound, forming images that disintegrate as soon as tries to make sense of them, flickering around a black mist that advances steadily, shot through with the finest threads of crimson lightning.

Tonight was different. A big ocean with dark water was closing in over her head, heavy and cold. It swirls up around her ankles, twining around hips, over her shoulders until it releases an eerie cackle in her ear.

She's right back at the start again.

The darkness fades; the fear abates and the ground reforms.

With sleep comes nightmares, but this night they're not as bad, and the next morning when the girls scavenged over the big breakfast, Hermione felt part of something. And when Li had to run off to her Transfiguration class she didn't just ask Nelly to save a seat for her at lunch, but Hermione as well. While Nelly blushed, it made Hermione smile. Once they got to Potions class with the Slytherin's, she was actually feeling ready. Belonging if not. Like she was just like the rest of them. And even though few things could stop her cheery mood from cooling, surely sharing a classroom with the Slytherin's helped. Milo and Nelly quickly partnered up, but much to her relief the third roommate had promised to work with her the first lesson. However while Hermione opted for a table in front of the class, Rose shook her head furiously before setting their things down in the middle of the classroom.

"Could we uh… sit closer to the back? Please?"

"Okay…"

"I'm sorry I'm usually not like this, it's just… pretty sure that table is jinxed," Rose went on to explain, which made Hermione frown. The table she was about to pick had always belonged to Seamus and Dean – at least those years when the two boys had taken the class. "Milo said the same thing actually. She said she felt the auras don't work well together."

Everyone in the room quieted down the moment Slughorn entered, a smile pulling on his already old and wrinkly face. He wished them a good morning, going on to tell them how he'd made the most astounding discovery while brewing his last set of Alihotsy Draught.

"It had curious effects that one," he nodded. "I sent a letter to my alumni who works abroad – he knows _everything_ there is to know about manufactured deliriums. More on that later, it's time for us to start working on the third stage of our Armadillo Bile Mixture!"

Hermione had never personally got to brewing it herself, but she'd been close to Fred and George, helping them with the 31 ounces of Armotentia needed for it's ingredients. To this day, the potion still smelled the same to her. It was comforting. She fell into an autopilot as she chopped up the bat wings together with the Aconite. She might not have brewed it herself before, but she'd read about it and how the most vital detail in brewing the potion was to make sure the lid were kept closed at all times, considering the cauldron more than happily wanted to spit out the teal liquid boiling inside.

Up in front of Rose and Hermione's table were Owen Mulciber and Severus Snape working wordlessly, hands moving all over the mapped out set of phials and brass scales and books and various ingredients. Two nights ago he'd promised her that he'd make an enemy of hers, and now it was like it had never happened. She was surprised how no one out of the Slytherin student, Mulciber especially, made an effort to meet her eyes once entering the classroom.

That didn't mean _she_ stopped watching _them_ though.

Much to her frustration, they were perfect. Nearly everything went according to the books, flawless procedure and execution of everything from stirring to chopping and adding ingredients. The only time they nearly messed up was when Severus almost made contact with the teal potion, hissing as he distanced himself. He, just like Hermione, knew that any contact with the potion would wash every nerve of the affected tissue away. The skin would go black dead. Not even unicorn hair could treat the wound.

Slughorn only took time to look up from his desk once during the whole class, and although Hermione shouldn't be surprised with his bad teaching, what angered her even more was how the students around her were utilizing it. She saw more than two students, both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, fill personal phials with the supply of Amortentia, sneaking them into their robes before continuing to work.

As for the duo of perfectionists working in front of her at the head of the classroom, Mulciber and Snape didn't as much as glance towards the love potion.

Then it changed.

Working partnered up with the Half-Blood Prince and future Potion Master did have it's perks, one of them being that their potion had reached it's final stage minutes before everyone else's – which left Owen Mulciber plenty of time to walk around and taunt the others in his house.

"You're working awfully slow today, Wilkes," the Slytherin commented as he got to Alistair Wilkes and Philip Avery's cauldron. "I thought working with Avery would help you catch up to the expectations of this class."

Hermione tuned out every other little sound in the classroom – fire cracking, incarnations and steaming and boiling and sizzling. She didn't hear everything in Alistair Wilkes answer to Mulciber, but she heard him excuse himself, blaming the homework Professor McGonagall had given them to the same day to be distracting enough to slow him down with the potion.

As far as she could tell, Alistair Wilkes didn't have very to get distracted by in that head of his – but it didn't seem like he had to. He was tall and broad – muscles pulling through his robe as he stretched over the table for his potions book. Suppose he was the heavy lifter of the group she'd encountered only nights before, rather than the brains.

"What does it smell to you?" Rose asked next to Hermione, tearing away her concentration from the Slytherins. "I'm only asking because… I uh… I can't smell anything," the Ravenclaw went on. "And it's always nice to hear about… uh.. what it smells like, I mean. Nelly can smell bacon and bonfires but I'm pretty sure she's raised by vegetarians, and Milo says she can smell aluminium and ash, though I can't say I've ever come across that before."

"I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and toothpaste and rain."

Rose smiles, muttering out how nice it all seemed, but quieted down after that, either too busy blushing or too busy counting the number of counter clockwise stirs she'd waved over their cauldron. Hermione must've missed a lot of the Slytherin's chat, because it looked like Mulciber was starting to back off again. Hermione almost didn't catch it, but she was quick enough to tune out enough of all the noise in the room again to hear Mulciber's low tone. "…and put the Amortentia back. Slughorn won't approve of it."

Philip Avery, who'd been working quietly next to Wilkes and Mulciber's small chat in silence, decided to break in. "Actually, I'm doubtful think the professor will notice at all."

"He _will_ notice when I tip him off that everyone has been stealing," Mulciber disputed.

Avery nodded; regret filling his eyes as he occupied himself with the potion again. "Of course."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the leading Slytherin leaned closer to Wilkes in interest. "What were you going to do with it anyway?" he asked, suddenly not so concerned with keeping a low tone anymore. "Don't see why you would be interested in a love potion is all."

This time it was Wilkes turn to quiet down. "It's for that damn Beater girl in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Been pining for her ever since I caught her after practice but she won't let me touch her so I figured this would..." Wilkes faltered slightly, gulping as he remembered something. "I want her to come begging."

And while both Mulciber and Avery laughed at the confession, Hermione felt something move up her throat. Somewhere in-between dropping the ingredients she'd been working with and rising from her chair she'd clenched her fists and prepared the words to yell. She felt like she was about to combust because everything she had just heard was sickening and she wanted it to stop and she would stop it personally. She would end-

Next to her, Rose sighed. "I think our potion is done. _Finally_."

Hermione didn't care about the bloody potion. All she cared about was getting that damn phial away from Wilkes pocket. Eyes searched frantically for anyone else in the room who might've heard the same thing she had, but she was left alone. Which was fine. She could take care of it all by herself, even if that would probably result in getting expelled.

"Hermione?"

She didn't turn around to when Rose said her name, instead taking a steady step forward in Wilkes direction. Another. Then another. Then… then a hand grabbed onto the back of her robe. And as Hermione spun around, Rose's big eyes grew even bigger.

"Are you okay?"

People around the classroom started looking up from their tables, curious eyes staring at the two Ravenclaws who'd now grown stiff and still like statues. Hermione wasn't used to an audience, but she was sure it wouldn't distract her enough from the task. Task being to break every bone in Wilkes body for even speaking about a girl in that way. Abusing a potion for the illusion of power – to make someone obsessed with him just to treat his wounded pride. Sickening.

"No! He… Wil-Wi… he's… the… I am not okay. He's planning to use… he's going to…"

Hermione could see how Milo and Nelly slowly got up from their table, walking towards her with slow and careful steps, as if scared to frighten her. Then, looking over at Rose for any explanation, they sidestepped.

"What is going on? Did she breathe in the fumes or something?" Milo asked.

Rose shook her head. "I don't know she just shot up and got like this…"

It was at this point that Hermione saw her defeat. The way both Milo and Nelly was blocking her clear path to Wilkes would slow her down, if not all together stop her from reaching the twisted Slytherin, if not that surely someone else in the audience would interfere. Her opportunity was gone and it bit down hard around her throat. It made her gasp.

"I'm sorry, but I think I need some air," she rasped out.

"I'll come with you," Rose insisted.

"No that's fine."

"I'm coming with you."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry but I really… I just need to be _alone_ for a second, I promise it's fine."

She rushed out before Rose could stop her.

Once she made it outside of the acidic class room, she ran up two sets of stairs before leaning against the cold stone wall, falling back against it until she was down on the ground, heaving for air as she crunched up into a small ball. And as she collected her thoughts, two things settled in her head. One was the clear picture of her methods of ruining Wilkes every waking moment in this school. She would sabotage him in the cruellest ways, ways she'd promised herself to never use, like the untraceable spells that would snap Wilkes canvas in the middle of a lecture and set fire to parchment and vanish ink. She would stop his bloody knuckles from getting healed, they would never seal and be hidden again.

Though even clearer than that was how this couldn't go on. How this – no matter how much she would try to comply with it – couldn't be avoided. Hogwarts was the problem. She being at Hogwarts, around these monstrous people, was problematic. No, she couldn't stay at Hogwarts if it meant dealing with these Slytherins every day. She knew what they were capable of, she knew what pain they would cause, and before she could do the same to them – she would have to leave. This school and it's students triggered too much and she couldn't pretend like nothing. She wasn't as good an actor as Ron or Ginny. She couldn't stay around these people knowing the things she did.

She couldn't go through with it all over again. She'd already lived with it for months after the wars end. She had already grieved (although that never truly stopped) but she had grown strong and being here, around these Death Eaters, it took all of it away because she would have to see it all over again.

No, she had to leave Hogwarts, or she would lose herself in the hate all over again and this time Harry and Ron wouldn't be there to bring her back. She had to leave and solve this in some other way – just not here, around these people, this close to the battle… She thougth she could be strong enough but this lesson, hearing Wilkes and Mulciber brought it all back again and it was enough.

Hermione tried to use the little control she had left to close her fists, and felt her soul guttering like a candle.

Wilkes tore up old memories of the battle.

Memories so clear and real she found herself reliving them. It became a cacophony of noises, of blasts getting fired – feeble spells and dark curses - of voices, until it was piercing, until even she wanted to cover her ears. It took a while for Hermione to realize that she was sobbing; somewhere in a shadow memory Colin was calling out her name over and over again. She recognized gales desperate cries, like the ones had uttered in the Burrow kitchen after the first attack, then Molly Weasley's soft whimpers for her children. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised when her own voice joined in; after all, she was in pain. But she was surprised, because she wasn't calling for help.

She was calling for Remus.

The moment she realized what she was doing, teeth bit down her clenched fist, stopping the name from slipping out again. She wanted to be hard, to be strong. But she couldn't be that. Not in here, in this castle, in this school or around these people. She had to leave.

First instinct was to just run. Take her stuff, sneak through a secret passage and leave for good. Go straight to Jiggers and explain. Second thought was of Hagrid, but that one was shut down as well. Because although she'd easily befriended Hagrid during her short visits to his cottage, it was hard to stay around him for too long. Sooner or later the half-giant always went on how much he owed Dumbeldore. The loyalty too strong to break.

When she gets back to the Ravenclaw Common Room, the whole group is waiting for her, Rose and Milo rushing up to her the moment she walks in. Hands shoot out to squeeze her shoulders, worried eyes searching over her to check if she was alright. Peaking out from behind them, Nelly and Li watched with wide eyes.

"We tried to find you after Potions – what's wrong?" Rose urged in an upset frequency. "We're worried sick about you. Everything was going so well. I mean we're so happy to have you in Ravenclaw, in our dorm especially. You're one of us and we stick together so you have to tell us what's wrong."

"Or maybe you don't," Milo quickly filled in. "But we're here for you either way."

"And we were kinda hoping you would let us..." Nelly mumbled from behind her hand where she was biting her nails down anxiously. Next to her, LI was staring down at the sea blue carpet, biting her lip as her nose scrunched up.

"I can't stay."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have come here in the first place. It was a stupid, insane idea to think.. to think that it would work… that everything would be alright... Because it isn't. Nothing is okay," Hermione's hand shot out to exaggerate, making Milo's hand fall loose in the air.

"I've never heard of someone changing their household, but if this is about Ravenclaw I'm sure Flitwick…" the prefect carefully tried to chose her words, but from Hermione's pained huff she was cut short.

"You don't understand, this isn't about Ravenclaw! I can't stay _here_. At Hogwarts. In this castle. I have to leave."

All four girls released the tension in their shoulders almost immediately once Hermione said that this wasn't about Ravenclaw. In other words, how this wasn't about them. They'd worried maybe that this was something that they'd done or triggered, but if it was the school… that could only mean worse things, right? Rose turned to Miio, then to Nelly who was busy staring down at Li, who was focused on Milo… all of them were turning to look at each other for answers, but all of them looked just as lost as Hermione. When no one found anything to say, Milo eventually turned back to Hermione.

"If this isn't something we've done… maybe we can help."

"We'll help," Li nodded. "What happened during Potions?"

Hermione sniffed. "I wish it was about the curriculum, but it's not. It's the school itself." The people roaming the halls who would grow up to become death machines. Cold-hearted killers. Blood lusted psychopaths stripped from all compassion and humanity. Hermione couldn't stand it.

"Hogwarts is safe, you know. I mean, Dumbledore set the wards himself."

"No, this is about me. It's me."

"Explain," Li urged her. "Has something happened to you?"

"Yes. No. Yes, but nothing at the school. It's me, I can't stay because of me," Hermione fumbled. "I can't… it's a bad idea. I have a thousand of reasons why I shouldn't be here."

Rose felt heartbroken watching the newest Ravenclaw stutter out the words. She thought back at the first night they first got their new roommate. Milo had warned them that they should've gone easy on her, reminding them that transferring to a new school would be difficult and that they would have to help the girl to feel at home. And they'd really worked hard. And for a while, it seemed like it was all good. Hermione had been smiling most of the time and last night during the Ravenclaw inauguration she'd fitted right in. And now she was telling them how she wanted to leave.

They wanted Hermione to stay.

Ever since fifth year, the Ravenclaw girls had been noticing how the younger classes had grown smaller and smaller. More and more people dropping out to stay at home with their family- There was always people leaving. People falling under the cape of fear that was slowly growing bigger and bigger.

No, Hermione couldn't leave. They wanted her to stay. They wanted her to stay because they all knew for sure this was a safe place to be in dark times like these. The safest. Hogwarts was protected. Nothing would hurt inside the walls of the castle. Never at Hogwarts. Not here where it was _safe_.

All of the Ravenclaw girls stayed quiet, eyes carefully watching as they let the confusing girl calm her breath. The silence was long and stretched thin. Then the shortest of them smiled shyly, pushing her black bangs away from her forehead. "We'd miss you, you know."

"A lot," Nelly added.

"We're here for you," Rose repeated, letting her hand slide down Hermione's forearm to grasp around her slightly trembling fingers. "Maybe you could talk to the Dumbledore. He'll know what to do. He knows everything."

Milo shook her head. "He can't know _everything_ ," she muttered, looking very grumpy as she stared up into the ceiling for lack of a better target. Still, Hermione found the Ravenclaw prefect utterly amazing in that giving moment – she couldn't help but smile. She liked these people, and while she found that sensation of friendship strange considering she'd only known them for a few days, it was extremely comforting. Could that be enough to make her stay? Sadly, probably not.

* * *

"Black, Lupin, Potter, Pettigrew…" the Headmaster spoke slowly as they stood in shame before him. They'd been racing Peeves all over the second floor and while it'd been a fair race, a poor second year hufflepuff had gotten in the crossfire and reported them. "Gentlemen. Although I'm happy to see your excitement for our school spirit hasn't succumbed after seven years at this school, it does reach a limit. How about we take this conversation at my office?"

Sirius and Peter deflated, shoulders heavy in utterly defeat because they knew where this was going. From the looks of panic and despair played by both the Prefect and the Head Boy's, Remus and James weren't very far behind.

"Sir," James' voice hitched. "We really wasn't… uh.."

"You can't give us detention from curiosity, sir," Remus filled in. "We were simply broadening our skill in communicating and dealing with poltergeists and figured this was a perfect opportunity to… to uh.. fuck."

Eyes travelled from each marauder to the next, and a soft expression played on the Headmaster's features as he finally said, "We have a lot to talk about, I think."

Ending up at the Headmasters office wasn't something entirely new to the four boys – it'd sprung up as a tradition ever since their first year together, but this time it felt really humiliating. First off because half of the group was supposed to act as exceptional students – students to learn and take guidance from, not learn tricks and mistakes from. Not that Dumbledore ever gave out detentions personally – he seemed too soft for that – but he had given them weird goals and assignments whenever they came this far.

As the Headmaster excused himself for a second, the Marauders felt brave enough to talk.

All four were lined up right in front of the old man's front desk, which was surprisingly clean and free from documents and books for some unapparent reason. All four had their hands clasped behind their backs, feet aligned with their shoulders, chin almost pressed to their chest as their heads hung low.

"Fucking hell, I really don't want this," James muttered under his breath. "You guys smelt horrendous for days after that detention in the dungeons."

"You rather stink for a few days than get your badge stripped," Sirius muttered back.

Peter, who was by now not to say comfortable, but confident in taking the hit of a detention was the only one who managed to lift his head and look around the office. "This is ridiculous," he shook his head. "I mean, we hadn't even gotten started yet. That Hufflepuff was exaggerating. It's not fair, that's all."

Hearing how Dumbledore's footsteps were closing in on coming back to the main part of the office, Peter was quick to hang his head again – but only after giving his friends a glance. Although he lowered his voice significantly, the most discreet of whispers, his arm shot out to give Remus a light slap to his arm in hopes of waking him up from whatever paralyzed shock he'd fallen into.

"Chill out, you're making me nervous," Peter whispered, feeling how his heart was starting to mirror the same shock-waves of vibrating nerves that Remus' hands were stuck in.

"I'm _trying_ ," Remus bit back, grateful he couldn't look Peter in the eye while saying this because he would most likely scare the shit out of his friend with the glowering scowl he was sporting at the moment.

No one got to answer, the room falling dead silent the final seconds before the Headmaster ultimately returned. With him he had a minimum sized wooden box made out of a reddish type of wood, and before anyone got to ask, he opened it.

"Ah, here we go," Dumbledore smiled, carefully lifting the small packages of lemon mints from the box. "I've heard about a shop in Copenhagen that makes the most brilliant sweets, but I much rather stay with Honeydukes. They've grown to be very loyal to any sweet tooth passing by, don't you agree?"

"Was… was that a rhetorical question?" Remus asked.

"Not at all, Mr Lupin. Go ahead and take whatever you like."

Hesitantly, one marauder after the next swooped in to take a mint. Not that they were the favourite – but if felt rude not to take one when offered. Soon enough, all four boys were making sour faces at the Headmaster, all of them secretly wondering what the hell the point of all of this was.

"The point is," Dumbledore started, "as you may or may not be aware… darker times are brewing."

Remus almost choked on his lemon lozenge. Never during his seven years at Hogwarts had his Headmaster just hinted – now basically admitted – to being a legimens. Sure, there had always been rumours about the most powerful wizard in the country and what he could and couldn't do, but he'd never actually seen it, or heard it happen. Most of the time, no matter how frustrating it was, Albus Dumbledore chose to speak in riddles around Remus. Whenever asked about something, it always came back in a much more poetic or philosophical form than necessary.

"Thank you, Mr Lupin. I get most of it from Wilde and Frost."

"I uh… that's..." Remus struggled as all of his friends turned in confusion.

Remus was feeling seen – under a microscope or a magnifying glass – and not in a good way. Because mind and body had always been a enigma for him, because neither mind nor body had ever truly been his. To share it with a wolf, a beast, a monster, was one thing. But to realize that there was a third party to this dark matter of pain and cruelty and raw wilderness inside of him made him feel awfully sick.

Could Dumbledore read his murderous thoughts when he'd transformed?

"No, it's almost impossible to reach inside an animals mind," Dumbledore explained, not waiting for Remus to form his thoughts and questions into actual spoken words. The impatience and intimate infiltration was making him go dizzy, but even if Dumbledore clearly knew (heard?) this, he kept going. "And while your case is different, just like it's different to reach out for a transformed animagi, your mind is more difficult to handle."

It was a lot to take in all at once. Dumledore had pretty much just acknowledged the storm that was twisting inside Remus head, and he was acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It made Remus wonder how long he'd been doing it. Was he a natural legimens, or did he just throw the spell wordlessly?

It was questions like these that Dumbledore chose to ignore.

The Headmaster watched with interest as the young werewolf's hands kept shaking, even after he'd offered the four boys a calming atmosphere. And then he connected the pieces. He opted for the source of the shaking. Once again did Hermione Granger impress Dumbledore in ways he hadn't imagined.

From what he could tell, she'd try to erase herself from Remus Lupin's mind – only it had been unsuccessful. It had worked well enough for him to forget, but at the end of the day, the memories still lived inside him. And the wolf was tearing up all levels she'd buried the memories under, layer by layer. The hands were just another sign of this. How there was a fight within.

And all the while, Remus Lupin was completely unaware of what was going on.

It really was a work of a brilliant witch, even if this might not had been what she had intended for the werewolf.

"Dangerous people are gathering numbers," Dumbledore spoke.

Two hands flew up as if to stop a fast moving object, like a police officer handling traffic at a busy intersection. "Okay, hold on just a second!" Sirius exclaimed. "What are we bloody talking about right now?"

"Might need an aluminium hat for this, Pete," James snickered.

"You may or may not be aware of the many ideas filling the classrooms in this castle," Dumbeldore spoke. "Ideas about right and wrong. Now, considering I trust you four to see the clear difference between what's good and bad, I figured I could turn to you about finding… doubts."

The first one to speak up after a very long silence was the Head Boy, who had by now gathered enough of the raw material to form a theory of his own. "What are you insinuating?" he asked, arms crossed as he glanced from his friend to the headmaster, then back again.

"Nothing, I'm afraid… I can't know anything for sure," Dumbledore answered honestly. "Although I know every single soul passing through our gates to this school, I can't possibly know them. Of course, it's even more difficult to see where someone's loyalty lies when they're a complete stranger."

James adjusted his glasses. "Are you talking about the new Ravenclaw? Because honestly, I think your focus group should be Slughorn's snakes. But that's just my opinion."

"All I ask is that you keep an eye out."

All marauders except one nodded their heads. There was no hesitation, except with one. Sirius didn't know what to think. He was already keeping an eye on Granger, but somehow this seemed worse. The fact that the Headmaster wanted them to spy on the girl made it feel wrong, unlike what it did now; which was mostly just annoying. Nevertheless, he eventually let his head fall down in a nod.

"We will, sir."

While Remus and Peter were excused to leave the office, Dumbledore asked Sirius and James to stay behind. "You won't miss lunch, I promise," the old man smiled over his desk, like he hadn't just minutes ago told them about his fear of evil spreading around Hogwarts' students. "I just wanted to inform you that I received a letter from your parents."

Sirius was about to make a joke, but something in Dumbledore's eyes stopped him.

"There is nothing to worry about, but they informed me that they won't be able to send or receive any owls the upcoming two weeks."

"Why?"

"They'll be travelling of sorts. But they'll be safe. All I was told was that if anything should trouble you or if you're in their need, Mr and Mrs Pettigrew will be there for both of you."

An uneasy feeling filled both boys stomaches, because even though the Pettigrews adored any friends of Pete, they didn't like the idea of their parents leaving. Whatever it was that made the Potters leave, it had to be important. So they didn't question it. Both boys just nodded, and they were soon sent out as well, but only after getting the reminder repeated again. Don't worry.

Once they stepped out from behind the large Gargoyle guarding the oval office they almost fell down to the ground. Not because of shock, but due to the fact that they almost ran straight into the student waiting outside. James didn't get the chance to offer a greeting before Sirius beat him to it with an irritated groan.

"Granger Danger, surprised to see you here." Sirius was glaring at Hermione, like he usually did. "I thought you Ravenclaws had Herbology with Pomfrey this hour."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I was on my way to see Dumbledore, but…"

"Are you in trouble?" the marauder next to Sirius asked.

No amount of story telling on the old Marauders' behalf could've prepared Hermione for real-life James Potter. It was like meeting a fictions character. And that character turns out to be unfathomably similar to his son. He had awkward legs, a long torso and a curly mop of hair. The robes and white shirt matted of colour, but were pressed and well fitted nevertheless. Then there was the hazel eyes… Not green like Harry's.

Hermione cut herself off once she remembered Harry. She told herself to cut it out. James was not Harry, no matter how much alike they looked. No matter how similar their voices were. Focus on the differences.

Pulling for air, she narrowed her eyes at the Head Boy.

James was more solidly built than Harry, and cleaner cut, too. He'd styled his floppy hair down since she'd last seen him, and it looed at least two shades darker than the curls Hermione was used to. The Harry she'd grown up with was scruffy around the edges and warm in every way imaginable. The Harry she'd fought the war with was stiff from bruises and beaten within an inch of his life. Sometimes Harry would look like he was carved from ice. Not looking all that different from the state she'd left him in. And it was so awful, so horrible how quickly her mind swapped in one Potter for the other. How much it lifted her spirit and eased the tightness in her chest to imagine Harry was here next to her again.

No. Stop it.

This was why she had to leave. She couldn't handle being around ghosts.

She held on to those hazel eyes, one of the few differences shining through everything else.

"I'm not in trouble."

"If this is about… uh… that night with the Slytherin's… are you planning to mention us in the equation?"

"It's not about that. I wasn't going to tell him about anyone breaking curfew, considering I'm did the same thing. I was going had to ask him about the castle, but… I figured it out on the way here so I'm not going in," Hermione made up her answer before meeting Sirius glare again. "If you call me Granger Danger again you'll be the one in trouble, Black."

Sirius's glare turned into a wicked grin. "Name only proves a point, especially with your tendency to go around punching students and threatening innocent bystanders."

"I'm being-" _serious_ , Hermione wanted to say, but she stopped herself, mentally kicking herself when she saw how the marauders grin only grew bigger, pulling on his dimples. She'd never taken note of his dimples before. Not in her time at least. "Nevermind…"

James, who looked just about as amused as Sirius, adjusted his Head Boy pin as he spoke. "It's almost time for lunch."

"No, I have to get back to Herbology with Professor Sprout."

With a quick glance down at his wristwatch, Sirius sighed. "You won't make it in time, it takes at least nine minutes walking there, and it ends in ten. You might as well go to lunch."

Gulping, Hermione did everything in her power not to mention the secret passage Harry had shown her thanks to the map that would take here there in only three, but she wasn't supposed to know that, so she kept quiet.

"Let us walk you?" James smiled, genuinely offering her help through the web of corridors. Sirius didn't look too happy about it, but James ignored his exhausted sigh. "If we're quick we'll probably get our hands on some pudding before it runs out."

"I don't think Granger deserves any pudding," Sirius grumbled, to which both James and Hermione poked him, both maybe a little bit too hard to be playful.

"Our mate Pete accidentally spent his Potions project on that particular staircase," James pointed at one of the levitating staircases once the three of them made it to the tall room. "So I would try to avoid using that one. Unless you want to get stranded in the middle of the pass and get late to class."

''I already got a tour of the castle from Milo, she already warned me,'' Hermione spoke. "She didn't mention that it was Peter's fault though."

"He didn't do it on purpose, Granger," Sirius muttered. "He got distracted. But messing things up is usually his forte."

They had no idea.

''Milo Tarlton?'' James asked, eyes shining in recognition, bumping shoulders with Sirius. ''Remember how she swapped patrol partners with me so that I could walk with Evans in fifth year? I never properly thanked her."

"You should definitely invite her to the wedding then," Sirius nodded.

Hermione think she saw a blush starting to grow on James' cheekbones.

"Her brother Duncan was the wizard who invented that wig that stayed on forever, right?" James tried to deflect the subject. Hermione happily helped out, nodding encouragingly. She remembered Milo talking about her brother during their first day together. Milo hadn't exactly been bragging about her brothers invention, but she was proud. "I read those wigs won't come off, even in water. Didn't they test the wigs for hurricane-winds?''

"I think so, yeah. Maybe we should get one of them wigs for dad this Christmas," Sirius thought out load.

"He will not like that. He'll probably stick that wig on you yourself if you're not careful."

"I'm not the one who's thinning out and going bald!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Oh shove it," James chuckled, removing his glasses before polishing them on his robe. Most of his life he'd used a simple charm, but ever since Lily had done it the muggle way, he'd somehow felt how this was better. It helps him gather his thoughts, and after some internal debate whether or not it was a good idea to bring it up, he does. "Has the Slytherins done anything lately?"

Hermione loses some speed in their fast pace, making the trio slow down slightly.

"No, it's fine."

Sirius scrunched his nose. "Listen to me, Granger Danger…"

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, not sorry," he shrugged. "I'm not trying to scare you or anything, but in case they haven't done anything yet, they're probably planning something. They usually don't take punches that well, you know."

"I can take care of myself."

"No doubt."

And so finally they make it to the feast. Hermione practically runs off to the Ravenclaw table and as the two marauders watch her run, they hear how several Ravenclaws call out her name. They didn't get a similar reaction unfortunately. Once they slammed down next to Lily and Marlene they were pretty much shoved away.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks. He's asked that question a lot recently.

Marlene didn't look up from her quill. "Nothing, we're just have to finish this essay before next class."

"Why didn't you guys do it last night?" James asked, reaching for some salad across the table.

"We couldn't because _someone_ ," Lily gave him a pointed look, "insisted that all Gryffindors should spend the night playing games. And that someone also begged me on his hands and knees that I should team up with him because the world would crash and burn if I didn't." Although she was clearly irritated with him, James couldn't help but to smile at her. She was so perfect.

The Head Girl brushes some hair away form her face, a loose strand that had somehow gotten pulled out and twirled while sitting down next to James.

"But we won the whole tournament, didn't we?"

Only now realizing that Peter and Remus were seated opposite to them, Peter held up a hand as if to stop James. "Actually, we had a vote and decided that you guys were disqualified."

"So it was all in vein," Marlene huffed.

"No way, I had a great time!" James exclaimed. "Let me help out. I'm good at Potions. Maybe not as good as you, but I know stuff." Which was both a pain and a pleasure. James had grown up forced to learn all sorts of potions knowledge as a kid. And while he'd begged to go outside flying, his brain had absorbed it anyway because it's like a sponge.

James didn't have a flying hippogriff about potions.

(Unless, maybe, on rare occasions, it included spending time with Lily Evans. Because Lily was a stellar potionneer and she was amazing in everything she did but she taught James things not even his parents knew. And when Sirius casually mentioned this back home Fleamont and Euphemia had pretty much joined forces with Sirius in colluding to get their son to marry this potions queen.)

Lily, who was still busy referring back and forth between her Transfiguration book and her parchment, leaned closer to James, resting her blushing cheek to his shoulder. And although it was barely audible, it made James heart swell as she mumbled out a small "I had a good time too."

The Gryffindors continue trying to catch up with as much as they can during the short lunch. Peter helps Marlene with the glossary, James reminds Lily in-between every paragraph she writes that she should probably eat something, and Sirius and Remus just listens to it all.

When there's only 10 minutes left of the lunch, Lily goes to get up from her nestled seat next to James. ''I'm off.'' She grimaces when the arm tightens around her, keeping her locked to the table ''Slytherins are responsible for patrol tonight by the way, so be careful,'' she adds, trying to pull away James' hand one finger at a time.

It's not the best tactic, taking it that once she's done with his pinkie, his thumb is already back.

Remus stares at their hands, feeling utterly shit. Veins pop on his own hand as he grips the padded edge of the bench they're sitting on. While Prongs goes off bantering about hospitality and simple manners to Padfoot, the index finger of the hand is picking at a thread. Other than the plucking waves of Remus' fingers, he sits motionless, peering over at an old chess set someone has left behind. He has never been good at the game, but for the moment he is trying to sort the patterns of each piece, a hopeless distraction from all amplified sounds and lights around him.

Usually he was able to keep his cool, still a few days to the full moon, but he had lost the concentration, the shield of protection dropping. Only now when he was trying to pull it back up again, it was too heavy to lift.

''She looked fairly interesting, I suppose,'' Lily answered a question he must've missed. ''Remus flew up from his seat when he saw her at the library,'' she added with a silver laugh, the light tones of happiness spreading warmth around the group. "Ravenclaws are usually good people though."

The thread Remus has been picking at suddenly tears with a thunderous ripping sound. His face betrays no reaction - but his whole hand claws the arm of the bench like an animal in a trap.

"Casanova is on the move again,'' Peter fitted, a hand pushing a poke into the werewolf's tense bicep. ''What a heartbreaker… but I guess it's fine. She proved herself to be quite action-packed if you ask me.''

''Give it a rest, Wormy,'' Lily scolded, probably the only one noticing Remus discomfort and the abuse of the bench padding. Immerse eyes offer him a comforting calm, and after a long moment he stares his breathing begins to slow. _Finally_.

Lily wasn't the only one to jump to Remus defence, James happily taking the opportunity to tease Peter about Suzy Taube. By now it was now decided that the non-stop blushing girl had now earned the title of Krypton, for always making Peter look like he was either about to throw up or have a permanent rash on his cheeks.

''Can't she be something cooler?'' Peter whined, because although Peter felt honoured to be compared to the great superhero from the comics, he was still under the firm belief that Suzy Taube deserved something better to be associated to. Diamond perhaps? Was that an element? He didn't know how the muggles even made them up. ''She could be Hydrogen or something.''

"If I weren't already late I would ask what element I am but I really have to run," Lily smiled. "But it better be good."

"You've got the best one, Evans, don't worry. We gave the worst one to Remus."

"Shut up, Prongs."

* * *

 **AN: I know i know i know i am the WORST™**


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